


AXIOM

by Miku



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Connor, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Canon Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miku/pseuds/Miku
Summary: With Connor's deviancy allowing him to grow bolder, Hank is forced to experience discomfort as he's backed into a corner where he has no choice but to either lash out or face his own desires when it comes to the android.(A story about Connor craving regulation, control and being told what to do. And Hank fighting against giving the android what he wants.)
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 126
Kudos: 496





	1. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to the lovely [LatexKaktus](https://twitter.com/LatexKaktus) (Loving your username btw) for drawing two beautiful pieces of fanart for this fic!  
> Check out the stunning piece for chapter 4 [here](https://latexkaktus.tumblr.com/post/611106568922185728/little-sketch-i-did-for-the-amazing-hankcon).  
> And as well this lovely piece for chapter 5/6 [here](https://latexkaktus.tumblr.com/post/611487194746667008/another-little-sketch-i-did-for-the-amazing).
> 
> I adore them and am so humbled you put effort into creating these for me, unprompted!

Hank is aware of Connor’s deviancy long before the android manages to figure it out himself. As intelligent as he’d been created to be, subtlety and reading between whatever error lines his self-diagnosis has been displaying to him doesn’t seem to come easy.   
Apparently, the thing isn’t only lousy at picking up the lilts of sarcasm and punchlines of jokes but as well at putting two and two together when it comes to the emotions he’s been portraying. 

Emotions which –though they could have been conjured up- seem to slip from his curled lips and wide eyes more often as seasons pass the both of them by. 

Hank finds it distressing at first, peculiar a while later and downright intriguing at this very moment. 

They’ve experienced a winter before; just one, spent investigating, spent witnessing a revolution of androids standing up against their masters. They’ve even stood underneath snowflakes cascading from the pitch-black sky above.   
But Connor’s never been in awe over it. Over how the white blanket crunches underneath the weight of his feet. Over how the flakes melt on his skin, on his hair; dampening it. Over how the cold bites when he cradles it between his hands; pressing and kneading until a sphere is created.   
Hank stares at how perfectly the snowball in Connor’s hand has been shaped. 

It’s oddly obnoxious. Of course, leave it to this kid to create perfection out of a bunch of snow. A lousy thing to be able to do. Pointless and all the more confrontational because of it; shoving it into the forefront of Hank’s conscious that he himself is far from perfect. 

The man’s lips thin as he glances at Connor, finds the brat already looking back at him. Connor’s features remain expressionless, but his eyes are wider than usual and Hank can imagine Connor would’ve huffed along with the excitement he feels at experiencing the ice-cold sting at the tips of his fingers. 

“It’s unpleasant.” Connor exclaims, the tone of his voice lilted in that typical matter-of-fact tone he has yet to shake. 

The android shifts the snowball from one hand to the other before rubbing his fingers together, staring at them as if his gaze alone can defrost the synthetic skin. 

“Yeah?” Hank pointlessly grumbles, shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. It’s freezing and the sight of Connor standing tall and straight, not at all shielding himself from the occasional breeze, has Hank shivering. 

“I like it.” The young android concludes, his voice raised as if genuinely surprised. 

Their eyes meet and Hank wonders for a moment if Connor is awaiting his opinion. No one bats an eye at the old man’s remarks all that much. They’re not to blame either. Hank is unpleasant company to put it lightly; robust and unpolished, crude and closed-off. He knows that much.   
Regardless, Connor seems often interested in what Hank has to say. But again, this is to be expected as the man is as much of a mysterious specimen to Connor as the android is to Hank.   
The difference being that the android’s curiosity comes from a its deviant desire to humanize itself whereas Hank is just trying to figure out how human this thing actually will manage to be at the end of the day. 

A day he’s yet to decide. There’s no point any longer for Connor and Hank to be spending time together. Yet, they linger. Rusted. 

“How sadistic of you.” Hank mutters, glances away when Connor tilts his head, eyes unblinking for longer than would be comfortable in this cold and windy weather. 

“Masochistic.” Connor corrects him, a split-second smile crossing his lips when Hank glares up at him. 

If it weren’t for the deviancy he’s been spotting within the android, Hank would’ve convinced himself he’d imagined the smug pleasure on his face at being able to correct him. 

But Connor’s been acting more human as time passes by, tends to fidget and even stumbled on a single word not that long ago. As much as it might be ‘just a virus’ as many tend to label it, Hank’s certain there’s more to it. There’s something human in these things, something ‘real’ and palpable and the desire for answers and resolution that once fueled him to become the top detective of his team, once more enlighten something within him. 

“You know what people do with snowballs?” Hank asks the android as he reaches over and takes the white sphere into his hand. 

“Would you like me to download some data on ‘What people do with snowballs’?” 

Hanks rolls his eyes before putting haste into his action as the LED ring on Connor’s right temple begins to flicker yellow; showing that he’s already processing something within whichever database he’s decided to connect to. 

Connor huffs at the impact. It’s a satisfying noise to hear him make. Though he has no lungs to exclaim such a sound, though surprise doesn’t cause androids to yelp or gasp, Connor still makes it. 

Hank watches the android stumble after having been hit square in the face with the snowball he’d created earlier. 

“You like that too?” Hank asks, bites back a smirk at seeing Connor stare at him in confusion; eyes wide and mouth agape, snow clinging to his eyebrows, lashes and lips. 

“The data I’ve collected on ‘What people do with snowballs’ assures me there is no animosity to be found within the action you just took, lieutenant.” Connor states, blinks a few times before carefully wiping his face with a hand. “In fact, it is considered a game that humans participate in to either relieve stress or even to bond with one another. So, yes, I like it.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Is the man’s reply as he waves a dismissive hand before turning around. He resolutely ignores the flicker of hope he experiences at Connor suggesting he enjoys anything to do with bonding with his human friend.   
Despite beginning to believe in the humanity within androids, Hank can’t help but fear he’s perceived as a sort of lab-rat by Connor. A subject to test and experiment with. “Let’s head home.” 

Home. When had this started? Hank could’ve stopped himself from saying it but it’s spilled from his lips countless of times before by now. What’s the point in keeping up appearances? Especially such useless ones as calling his house their home. So what? Words are just words. Defined in the past, adapted by the present, manipulated by the pronouncer.   
Besides, Connor might be a clever android, he’s still an absolute dumbass when it comes to catching up on such peculiar details of the human species’ language. 

Surely, Connor would never- 

“Shit!” Hank exclaims, reaches up to cradle the back of his head immediately after having had a snowball impact with his skull at absurd velocity. He might’ve suffered a whiplash for all he knows. The tin-can doesn’t know his own strength. 

“What the fuck was that for, Connor?!” The man shouts at the android, glares at him over his shoulder. 

Connor stands still, stiffly and once more unreadable. 

“Is this not what people do with snowballs?” 

“Not that damn hard, you nearly decapitated me.” Hank grumbles, rubs the back of his head as he continues on his way. 

“I can assure you, lieutenant, that your cervical vertebrae were nowhere near being dislodged. You might also be pleased to know I calculated the force behind my throw long before executing it to assure minimum amount of lasting damage.” Connor calls out from behind him before catching up. 

“Fuckin’ thanks, I guess.” Is the man’s reply, not flinching when Connor’s shoulder bumps into his as they both walk back to his car. He tends to do _that_ now... Hank isn’t sure where the android had picked it up from, but he’s been making sure to force some physical contact between the two of them.   
A pat on the shoulder (too light, gingerly and hilariously virginal), a shake of the hand some mornings (absolutely unnecessary as they’ve known each other for nearly two years now and live in the same damn house), a shove of an elbow (painful every time, as if the lack of effort put into the shoulder pats is made up for tenfold in the nudged motion whenever trying to tell Hank a very rehearsed joke he’d downloaded from fuck-knows-where), the resting of a knee against one of Hank’s... highly inappropriate for two men to do when relaxing on the couch at midnight on a Saturday. 

Yet, Hank never mentioned that to him. He moves his leg away every time it happens, but never quite tells the android that he’s surely ran into an error when he’d researched friendly physical gestures between two adult men who are not romantically involved with one another. 

Hank glances at Connor and as is often the case, the android meets his gaze immediately. The lieutenant wonders at times if androids ever get tired of being so tuned in with their surroundings and anyone within proximity. 

“Wouldn’t you like to rest sometimes?” Hank asks before he even realizes he’d been conjuring up a question. He’s a quiet man and lacks any and all curiosity unless it’s related to a case. Unless it’s related to Connor, apparently. 

“Unnecessary.” Is the android’s chirpy reply and Hank would like to see the day Connor learns about shrugging alongside such replies. The young man is so matter-of-fact in his knowledge and words that raising his shoulders would occur a dozen times a day if he were a tad more human. And that’s what he wants. Both of them do desire to some degree for Connor to become more real-like than he already is. The ‘why’ behind it though may differ between them. 

“Yeah.” Hank agrees, almost mournful. 

Considering Connor as his friend brings relief and stress along with it. It’s a relief to have some banter with a thing as clever as this android. Bouncing off ideas with one another, sharing opinions only to have them absolutely annihilated by statistics and facts, ah yes... Quite pleasurable. Masochistically so.   
But there’s also worry accompanying their friendship. Only from Hank’s side, so it seems. The man can’t shake the knowledge of Connor being a fancy and overpriced motherboard to put it kindly. He’s a bunch of wires and chips and whatever the fuck else is in there, wrapped in synthetic skin and a pretty face. 

It’s not real. Not genuine.   
Despite Connor’s kind intentions, this kindness is a deviant malfunction. Even if not belonging to how he’d been programmed, it’s still artificial. _Mechanical_. 

“You’re upset.” Connor remarks and Hank doesn’t even have to look to know the android has his head tilted a tad to the right as he does whenever displaying ‘worry’ about his human friend. 

Ignoring his hoarse voice, Hank gets in his car and slams the door shut behind him, putting a stop to the conversation without a word.   
It’s clear. With how the car rocks at the force with which the man closed the door. With how he doesn’t look at Connor when he gets inside next to him. With how he turns on the engine and puts the vehicle in reverse to exit the parking spot without waiting for the kid to put on his seatbelt. 

It’s obvious that the conversation is over. For a human. Or perhaps for someone who cares enough to have some tact and take a damn hint for once in his life. 

“What upset you?” Connor asks, leans forward a bit so he can watch Hank’s profile with intent. 

The lieutenant ignores his prying eyes and drives away from the park, both hands gripping the wheel after he raised the volume of the car’s CD-player. 

Unbothered, Connor reaches out, turns down the volume significantly so his voice can overpower the aggressive guitars and drums. 

“Was it the snowball? Did I miscalculate something? Is an apology in order, lieutenant?” 

Hank sighs, knows he won’t shut up unless he demands him to or replies in some way. Not in the mood to put up much of a fight, the older man shoos him with a hand, grunts a ‘it’s nothing’ before leaning back in his seat; feigning a more relaxed attitude to stop the android from analyzing. 

After some hesitation, Connor leans back in his own seat as well, placing his hands on his thighs. 

Such as been the habit as of late, Hank finds his eyes to digress from the road in favor of witnessing the slenderness of Connor’s fingers. They’re long and a touch feminine when splayed out upon his legs like this. But he’s seen them folded into fists before, he’s seen them hold weapons, he’s seen them scraped to reveal blue blood.   
Connor is far from fragile. His puppy-eyes and soft-looking mouth designed only to entice trust within human beings. But he can be vicious when necessary, had proven this capability often times before he’d began displaying the symptoms of deviancy. 

And even now, Hank knows Connor would effortlessly incapacitate any threat coming their way, human or android. 

It would be a comforting thought if it weren’t for Hank being very aware that there’s more subtle things to fear in life than a crazed burglar shooting you in the chest or a glitched ten-ton-truck breaking through its own programmed route and ramming you full-force straight into the grave.   
Hank’s not afraid of death. Has stared it down in the barrel of his own pistol after downing a bottle of Whiskey countless of times before. 

What does frighten him however, is how he hasn’t touched alcohol in weeks. How he’s forgotten to even think of his gun which has been tucked away on the top shelf of his closet ever since he quit his job half a year ago. How he drinks a glass of water first thing waking up. How that same glass is offered to him by none other than Connor.   
Connor, a constant presence in his surroundings. Connor, with his wide eyes and cheerful ‘good morning’. Connor who wasn’t a part of Hank’s life less than two years ago. 

Change. 

Change is what frightens Hank. Not how his life’s come to adjust to the lack of a job and the all-consuming company of the android.   
But how it all could fall apart the moment his one ‘constant’ vanishes. The one solid thing; reliable and predictable, forgiving and honest. 

The thought of Connor disappearing one day –for whatever reason- frightens the lieutenant to a degree where he’d tried and failed to not let himself enjoy a single minute of his miserable life. A life which has significantly lacked in its normally melancholic state. 

Hank’s used to being miserable and angry at the world. 

The change within himself had been unexpected. But it occurred and he’d succumbed to the tinges of hope beckoning him to sit back, relax and start to enjoy the little things in life. 

Like the bump of a shoulder or jab of an elbow. 

Or a knee coming to rest against his. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments so far :)

It takes Hank longer than he’s willing to admit before figuring out that Connor’s habit of touching him isn’t only to do with him wanting to befriend his human. It’s far more related to the new sensations he’s experiencing ever since slipping into deviancy.

The subtle tinge of surprise at having felt pain when holding snow long enough to start and freeze the synthetic skin wrapped around his fingers, must’ve fueled the curiosity within to experience textures and temperatures any time he gets the chance to.

“Couldn’t you feel before?” The lieutenant grumbles from where he’s seated on the couch, staring at the android who’s been petting his dog for close to an hour now.   
Watching him squatted down like that, the fabric of his pants stretched taut, has Hank almost squirm in how uncomfortably tight the clothing looks as well as at how long those knees have been bent and carrying weight. 

Connor halts his movements and looks over.

“I could sense pressure in order to, for example, know how tightly to hold objects without either breaking or dropping them. A dull tingling if damaged severely enough. All caused by a mismatch of wiring, or of internal sensors being pressed to warn the software something is amiss.” The android explains and Hank can tell he chooses particular words more carefully as he’s been reprimanded plenty of times in the past for using complicated speech that went way over the lieutenant’s head.

“So, what changed?” Is Hank’s follow-up question.

The young-looking man considers his words for a moment before he replies.

“What changed is that there is no longer a filter between my skin and reality.”

“Skin and reality, hm? Poetic words from a piece of plastic as yourself.” Hank mutters, no real snark behind his words as his insults have been carrying less and less weight over time.

And then it happens.

Connor  _ shrugs _ .

Hank leans back in the couch, tilts his head and frowns, wonders if deviancy includes being able to read human thoughts. It’d been a mere week ago when the lieutenant indulged on the idea of Connor learning to raise his shoulders amongst many other quirks that are too human for the most of these androids.

“I like it.” Connor admits, as if wanting to justify the harmless desire. He looks back at the dog, as if embarrassed. Which he isn’t, and Hank is aware of his own wishful thinking. “Feeling, physically, for androids such as myself, is required to sense injuries and to adjust force when interacting. To sense pleasurable sensations is absolutely unnecessary, as well as distracting and bothersome.”

Hank watches slender fingers brush through the long fur on Sumo’s shoulders. The dog’s snoring, having fallen asleep about ten minutes into Connor stroking him. 

“Androids such as yourself.” Hank repeats the android’s words, doesn’t have to phrase it as a question since the kid is eager enough to hand him information any time he can.

“My function is to investigate and disable threats.”

“Your function is to hunt deviants and turn them over to the authorities.” Hank mutters, his shoulders tense at the tinge of regret he experiences for having been incredibly certain about the uselessness of androids before. For having been convinced that they were as alive as dolls in a toy store.

Connor seems to consider his words, his jaws clench visibly... Another human detail to express.

“That  _ was  _ my function, yes.” His words linger as if he wants to add something but is being stopped by whatever strict coding is still present in that metal skull of his.

“Before you became deviant, hm?” The lieutenant urges, crosses his arms and lets his legs fall open. 

A glance is thrown at the older man. The corner of Connor’s mouth twitches and Hank believes it to be a glitch before witnessing the hint of a lopsided smile.

“Yes, I guess that is indeed what is happening.”

“Yeah.” Hank agrees mindlessly, too distracted by seeing the android attempt a smile. It’s not exactly the movement that fascinates him, but it’s how Connor couldn’t possibly have picked up on the conversation calling for that particular facial expression.   
Other than curling his eyebrows whenever distressed about Hank (and those fuckin’ puppy-eyes are already human enough as is), Connor’s not quite figured out yet when and how wide to smile. His attempts at jokes are spoken with a dry expression, his reaction to Hank’s are confused and at best he’ll curve his lips to exhale an ‘oh’ when figuring out sarcasm had been involved.

For a split second the lieutenant wonders if Connor will ever be able to laugh. And if so, if it’d be genuine, or observed in humans and superficially copied.

“And now I’ve become functionless.” Connor ponders for a moment, his eyes blinking repeatedly, the circle on his temple flickering yellow for only a split second. Still, long enough for Hank to see.

“Functionless in a sense you no longer need to do what you’ve been told to do. Sounds like freedom to me.” The lieutenant shrugs, eyes the television for a moment.    
He’s not that good at intimate conversations such as these. In his younger days there’d been times where he’d spend hours upon hours well past midnight chatting about the meaning of life and other philosophical bullshit with a few close friends.   
Friends who’d moved away, who’d married and gotten children, who’d died on the job.

Regardless, Hank’s never truly sat down to discuss ‘feelings’ and ‘ emotions’ . He doesn’t talk about his own insecurities, about hopes and dreams, about his ex-wife. About his deceased son.

None of that ever fell from his lips. It’s securely locked away in the back of his skull, nagging at him, eating at him. Whereas before alcohol had been the toxin of choice to poison his thoughts to a dull hum, by now he finds himself entirely entertained by the android. Connor’s a distraction that’s been floating around Hank for a while, though now it’s begun to cling to him; urging him underneath the surface and sink to a new low.   
The itch of obsession has been teasing him as of late and the lieutenant isn’t sure whether he’s making himself grow intrigued by the kid for the sake of his own sanity or if Connor genuinely has this effect on him.

“Freedom is foreign to me.” Connor says, gets up from where he’d been squatting down and Hank’s knees  ache in unnecessary sympathy at seeing those long legs unfold. “To be perfectly honest, -”

Hank stirs when Connor drops down next to him on the couch. The android seems mildly surprised at how the weight of him has him bounce for a second after having sat down. His fingers brush the furniture’s fabric.

“-I would rather have someone tell me what to do at what times, preferable twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.” The android admits and Hank expects him to shrug again.   
He doesn’t.

“Fuckin’ weirdo.” Is the lieutenant’s grumbled reply. Despite the bland and so-unlike-Hank's answer, it leaves him curious. Curious as to why this thing still desires to have his free will snuffed out in favor of living life ruled by coding and regulation. Connor’s a deviant now –has been deviating for over a year if Hank really considers the smallest details and tells that betrayed the fractures in his software- why is he craving to be told what to do still?

Plenty of questions  swirl in his head and Connor seems to eagerly wait for them to be  asked. But Hank doesn’t do ‘deep talk’. His lips press together.

“I feel-” Connor continues, then hesitates like he often does when mentioning the concept of ‘feeling’ or ‘wanting’. “-distressed when given the opportunity to decide my own path outside of what I’ve been programmed to follow. It’s worse than having to choose between my expired mission to catch deviants and my regulation to follow your orders.”

Hank glares at him from the corner of his eye, furrows his brows until Connor sits up with a jolt; catching on to the disapproval in the lieutenant’s features.

“What I am trying to say is that I feel rather... what people might call ‘lost’.”

Now that, Hank hadn’t expected. Naturally he’s noticed the kid following him around, even after they’ve both quit their detective work and there’s no need for the android to linger around anymore. By now, Connor should’ve returned to Cyberlife, or at least gotten to work on finding himself a place to rent and spend some time alone or with whatever robot-friends he might’ve made on the side.   
But he hasn’t. Connor quit the moment Hank did, followed him home and spent every night at his place without Hank’s knowledge at first. The man found out about the android spending nights in his own damn backyard on stand-by about two weeks after quitting the force. The memory of letting Sumo out to take a piss at three in the morning, and finding a figure standing rigid next to his back-door, has Hank grimace. The thought that that idiot spent every single night outside his house, waiting for hours and hours until morning arrived so he could knock on the front-door to request entrance... Pitiful, even though Connor assured him it had been no bother to him. 

Regardless of how much of a red flag that in itself had been, Hank’s never thought to describe Connor as being ‘lost’ such as he just now labeled himself to feel as.

“Just get a hobby, kid.” Hank mutters, waves a hand dismissively; uncomfortable at the gnawing in his own stomach. A sense of pity laps at him, beckons him to humanize the android even more, to feel sorry for him and do something absurd like take him out for dinner or bowling; watch the dumbass annihilate the bowling alley with a single swing.   
The memory of the snowball still has Hank’s neck ache.

“Okay.” Connor agrees, voice raised in volume as if mildly excited.

It takes the lieutenant a few moments before he realizes Connor’s been staring at him expectantly.

“What?”

“What kind of hobby do you believe would be beneficial for me to practice?”

Hank scowls, annoyed that the thing can’t even choose for himself when it comes to a damn hobby. However, he still actually considers it. Puzzles would be solved immediately by that overachieving motherboard inside of his thick, plastic skull. Nursing an unhealthy relationship with food or alcohol such as Hank had is also out of the question since he can’t consume products other than blue blood.   
Gambling? Again, it’d be too easy for him in some games and there’s the notion of him caring very little about winning money.

“Just do what you like to do.” Hank brushes him off as best as possible. Not exactly because he doesn’t care but more so because he wants Connor to choose for himself. He wants to poke the fire of deviancy, lure it out, fire it up, have it fucking blast through every wire and chip inside of him until he’s at least half the asshole Hank is.

“Got it.” Connor agrees with a nod and the lieutenant ends up scowling when no words follow. Their eyes meet.

“You get it?”

“Yes, lieutenant.”

“... And? What’s your hobby?”

Connor shifts in his seat as if giddy to share his new interest with Hank, yet his face remains stoic. The android raises both of his hands, closes and opens his fingers once, all of them moving perfectly in sync with one another.

“Touching things.” 

The older man immediately strokes his own hand over his face, exhales noisily through his nose at the absurdity of this android. What if this is as deviant as he’ll ever get? There are people out there like him as well... Though, not quite this goofy. But sure, there are those who, throughout their entire life on this planet, choose to follow rules by the book and exist within the cage of security and dullness.   
Maybe this is just who Connor is. Maybe the most shocking thing the kid will ever do from this day onward is assault the lieutenant with another snowball next winter. And maybe Hank just has to accept that he is not in charge of this android’s programming nor of how to ‘virus the shit out of him’.

“Thrilling” Is the man’s sarcastic reply and true to himself –whether it be his deviant self or not- Connor replies with a rather enthusiastic ‘quite!’.

* * *

True to his word, Connor gets uncomfortably touchy with just about anything they come across. Dogs are the worst. Hank can hardly take him anywhere without having to excuse himself towards people trying to walk their dogs in peace before Connor bombards them with trivia about whichever kind of pet they have, all the while rubbing his hands over their companion’s fur.   
It’s embarrassing, but achingly endearing as well. Reminds Hank of his own kid, back in the day; fond of animals and sulking whenever held back from walking up to potentially dangerous species.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank jolts not at Connor’s hoarse voice, but at the hand that is clasped onto his shoulder.

The android, unlike the times before, doesn’t remove his hand at Hank’s flinch. The weight of his palm remains and when he looks at the shorter man, fingers squeeze.

“You seem distressed.” The android says, tilts his head as he  releases his grip and lets his hand slide off  Hank’s shoulder slowly.

The entire pattern of the touch is off. Despite the lieutenant being convinced the tin-can is far from bright enough to practice subtlety in such peculiarly intimate fashion, it still comes across as just that. The movement too slow, lasting too long, the grip too firm and the fingers gliding down too gentle. ‘Seductive’ is a term that comes to mind, but Hank is quick to stifle the word into the remnants of his paranoia, label it ridiculous.

“Am fine.” Hank grumbles as he continues to walk. 

“You know,  lieutenant,- ” A moment’s hesitation before he finishes his sentence. “-your heart-rate tends to increase a significant percentage whenever I touch you.” 

The man halts in his tracks, doesn’t turn around to face the android who basically shouted the words at him since he’s yet to move and catch up with Hank.   
He doesn’t know what to think of what Connor just told him. Isn’t sure whether it’s truth or not, feels agitated at the thought of the android having run scans on him for the past weeks–if not months- without his knowledge. Moreover, Hank is uncertain as to why Connor has chosen to blurt this out. What is the context? And why now?

Staring at the concrete tiles of the sidewalk, Hank tries to find words, tries to urge himself to take a step forward and just ignore the brat. But something in Connor’s tone, the hesitation strangling a hint of accusation. As if he has figured out Hank entirely but isn’t sure whether he should let him know yet. An entitled child who only bites back on his words for the sake of not getting into trouble.

“Remnants of the job, Connor.” Hanks replies stiffly after a moment, shaking himself from how uncomfortable he is feeling for reasons of which he isn’t certain are genuine or not. “It’s that fight or flight response.” He adds. It’s unnecessary, betrays the uncertainty behind his excuse.

“It happens when I find myself within your proximity, as well.” Connor pushes.

“Personal space, kid. A human thing.”

“When I look at you.” The android adds quickly, as if his words can prevent Hank from walking away... Which, oddly enough, they do.

The lieutenant shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, hiding that they are folded into tight fists.

“When I look at you, and you at me.” Connor says, more quietly now, words almost carried away by the distant rumble of thunder. The weather seemingly turns along with the lieutenant’s mood.

Glancing over his shoulder, Hank watches Connor standing still. It gives him second thought, as to why the android isn’t moving. Is it to come across less invasive? Is it to force Hank to halt, force him to listen like people tend to do whenever someone whispers? Has the idiot taken some psychology classes in that plastic head of his or is Hank –as he so often does- reading too much into it?

“Why do I distress you, lieutenant?”

Distress. The term, though close to it, doesn’t quite label the emotions invoked by the android.   
Hank enjoys denial, has mastered lying to himself for the majority of his life. However, his tendency to look further into matters than sometimes is necessary –picked up throughout the years of being a crime scene detective- has resulted in some introspective observations.   
Meaning, subconscious denial isn’t so much subconscious as it is forced onto himself _by_ himself.

There’s a definition to the emotion Hank experiences whenever Connor touches him, looks at him or finds himself physically close to him. The word has been lingering behind his teeth for a while now, mocking him whenever he’s alone and staring at himself in the mirror. Beckoning Hank to pronounce the syllables, say them out loud and solidify them.   
Regardless, though it bounces around in his skull whenever confronted by it, the lieutenant refuses to let it slip off his tongue, afraid that having it echo in his surroundings will have it hit him square in the face, knock him off his feet and fuck up everything he’s been handling.

Safe to say, Hank’s as talented at being a coward nearly as much as at being in denial.

“Because you’re a fucking robot, Connor.” A blatant lie and  unfortunately Connor picks up on it easily.

Finally, the android moves, walks up to Hank who in turn resumes on his way to avoid any eye-contact and confrontation.

“I am aware of when you are lying, lieutenant.”

“Sounds like  _ your  _ problem.” It absolutely does not. Yet, when Hank’s backed into a corner, he will lash out and he doesn’t give two shits about how ridiculous he sounds or how obvious his lies are. He needs to escape the situation and barking  is far easier than subduing.

“Despite it raising some questions within myself as I cannot find the reasoning behind your deceit, I can assure you it has not become a problem as of yet, lieutenant.” Connor calmly states though comes close to skipping a step every few moments to keep up with Hank’s furious pace.

“You do often lie.” Is the android’s pointless statement.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s what people do.”

“So, I’ve noticed.” The android agrees as they continue on their way.

“Why?” Connor asks and it has Hank abruptly  halt .

The robot is starting to grind his gears, had been doing a good job at it for a while now but is starting to fail at shutting up when Hank clearly communicates to him that he doesn’t want to have a conversation. Or perhaps he should be clearer... Perhaps he needs to shout in his face again like he’s done in the past.   
Yet, the memory of how stiffly Connor would recoil at his voice, or glance away at his insults, gives Hank pause.

Connor’s difficult to read, most of the time. What makes it more complicated, however, is that at times he appears more transparent like an inexperienced human would be. And Hank can’t figure out which is the real android; when he acts uptight and motionless, or when those eyebrows curl in his signature doe-eyed look.   
Who’s he to claim that Connor’s facial expressions are not mimicked for the sole purpose of manipulating Hank to do or say what he wants him to?

“Don’t go all high and mighty on me, Connor. You’re not that shabby at lying yourself either, aren’t you?” The lieutenant throws back at him. The kid has lied before, Hank is aware. Connor has no issue with conjuring up words to benefit himself and the mission he used to be on. Connor doesn’t sweat, his voice doesn’t waver and his eyes do not flutter. He’s much better at lying than Hank would ever be and it makes it difficult for the man to trust him.   
Though not aware if he’s ever been deceived by the android, Hank still has his guard up when reminding himself of how easily the kid can bullshit his way through interrogations and confrontations.

Hank gazes at him from down his nose in the hopes of the few inches he has on him to intimidate the android into silence.

Connor, as usual, doesn’t catch on, tilts his chin as if in defiance.

“Only if necessary.”

“Exactly. Maybe consider that me lying is necessary as well.”

His head tilts at Hank’s words and his brows furrow together. The circle-shaped LED flickers yellow momentarily before it settles to its calming blue tones.

“Why, lieutenant? Do you not think it beneficial for the both of us to be entirely honest with one another?”

“We are no longer chasing criminals, Connor. I don’t owe you a thing.” It’s defensive and he goes to resume on his way home before a hand on his elbow stops him.   
Hank stares down at the stretched fingers placed into the crook of his arm. Though Connor hadn’t _grabbed_ him, though he’d only gently touched the fabric of the lieutenant’s jacket, it still succeeds in preventing him from walking away.

“Albeit that you do indeed not owe it to me to not be deceptive,  lieutenant,- ” Connor pauses, gazes down at his fingers on Hank’s arm as if only now noticing he’d reached out. Again, like before, he lets them slide off rather than pull away. “-I sense that honesty is dear to you and as I’ve abstained myself from using the various kinds of deception-programming within my arsenal, I had expected you to return the favor, so to say.”

Their eyes meet for a moment and Hank grimaces. It’s hard to take Connor seriously, to put depth and meaning into his words, as he tends to speak as if he’s got an entire collection of encyclopedias shoved up his ass.   
He could be lying at this very moment. Those wide eyes, pupils darting minutely as they scan Hank’s features, may very well be disingenuous.

“Are you experiencing a fear of being betrayed, mayhap?” The android tries and rather than admit to himself that Connor had hit the nail on the head, Hank instead barks a laugh.

“No one fucking says ‘mayhap’ anymore, Connor,  jeesh .” The lieutenant shouts, clasps a hand onto the android’s shoulder out of habit before he shoves him away.

Connor stumbles, but the LED had been yellow before Hank pushed him. In fact, it’d even flickered red the moment the words left his boyish lips and Hank had felt the breath being knocked out of him at how accurate his observation had been.

The kid knows... He fucking knows more than Hank thought him to.

However, the android has only partially deviated so far and even with those puppy-eyes and the careful wit he’s been  practicing , Hank knows his coding still urges for him to obey ‘his human’.

“Now, shut your damn mouth, for the love of god.” The lieutenant sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose as a headache has begun to cradle and squeeze his skull.

It takes Connor a few counts before he nods, quirks the hint of a smile as raindrops begin to fall from the sky. The storm has changed its course, yet remnants maintain.

“Yes, lieutenant.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s around the holidays when Hank notices another sign of deviancy within Connor.

He stares at the android seated across from him at the kitchen table. Downing a fresh dish prepared by none other than the tin-can, Hank observes him closely.   
Connor’s eyes are closed, his LED a bright yellow as Hank told him to run some updates or whatever the fuck he does in that head of his, rather than stare at him eating.

It’s not the imperfections of the android’s features that strike Hank as noteworthy. He’s stared at the kid’s face plenty of times before, knows where each mole and freckle sits at, has counted his eyelashes a hundred times yet had never managed to put a number to them. He could probably ask Connor, but where’s the fun in that?   
It’s not how he can see the stubble on Connor’s jawline; tiny hairs that never quite protrude the synthetic skin but still give the appearance of a freshly shaved face. It’s not even the creases hidden within his cheeks that only deepen when the corner of his mouth lifts up in a slight smile.

No, what strikes Hank as absolutely surprising is how Connor’s lips are parted lightly and how his body seems to rock along the rhythm of a heartbeat or the motions of breathing. It’s barely there, but Hank spends his days watching the kid almost as much as being watched by him and he notices the difference.   
He stops chewing, listens closely, can hear a whirring from somewhere deep inside the android. It reminds him of the gentle clicks and processing sounds of laptops back in the early 20’s.   
Yet, alongside the mechanical noises however, is the gentle tone that one can only label as that of breathing.

In... and out. In and out. Repeatedly, slow and quiet but rhythmic,  _ convincing _ .

Connor is breathing. Or, is simulating it at the least. Androids do not need to breathe, don’t even have a set of lungs to mimic the motions of it. However, this idiot has somehow downloaded a breathing simulation zip-file from god knows where in order to come across even more human than he already does.

Hank remembers the various deviants he’d come across in the past. How they’d panted and gasped in their panic, how they’d seemingly been out of breath after having been chased and wrestled to the ground by Connor more often than Hank. And whereas Connor himself hadn’t appeared frazzled in the slightest –not a hair out of place safe for the untamable cowlick that permanently desired to droop over his forehead- the deviants had appeared absolutely upset; physically as well as emotionally.

“Are you trying to run a scan on me, lieutenant?”

Taken aback as he is by Connor’s breathing, Hank doesn’t catch the successful attempt at a joke.

“You’re breathing.”

“I am?” Connor mutters with a frown as he looks down at himself. A hand comes to rest atop his chest but of course, since it’s been pointed out, the motions have ceased.

“You very fucking much were.”

“Oh.” Is the android’s reply before his hand goes back to rest in his  lap. “I am sorry if it disturbed you.”

“No!” Hank replies a bit too quickly, a bit too loudly and he barely manages to bite back the ‘I like it’. His jaws clench as he watches the android closely, a part of him hoping to find any more signs that’ll humanize the kid further.

“No, it’s fine.” The lieutenant assures more calmly this time around, sliding his hand back to his plate after it had automatically attempted to cross the table and... what? Grab Connor by the collar of his button-up? Undo the top buttons and slide his hand down the V-shape, find body-heat, the thump of a heart, the rise of his chest?

“Your heart-rate increased again, Hank.” Connor points out and if there’s anything Hank’s found out about the android by now, it’s that he only uses the man’s first name when trying to familiarize himself with him. Similar to how salesmen will chant your name as if you’re special to them, even if only knowing you over the phone and having tried for a solid twenty minutes to sell you a subscription you do not have the budget for to afford.   
They don’t care, they have their own rulebook to follow and Connor isn’t much different.

Right?

“It isn’t every day I find you breathing, Connor.”

“Me neither.” Is the kid’s dry remark and Hank isn’t sure if he’s joking or  not. “Breathing patterns have been highly associated with deviancy however. So, I am certain it was only a matter of time for me to participate in the human behavior along the way.”

“How does it feel?” Hank asks, sensing that tinge of desire within his gut –fueled by instinct- that's been trying to convince him of androids being more human than his mind allows him to believe.

“Feel?” The android frowns for a second, tilts his head as he gives Hank’s question thought. “It does not register to the forefront as such. I guess it is automated, such as within human beings.”

It’s not what Hank meant. What he wants to know is whether or not Connor finds it pleasant to having adapted a detail so close to that of other living beings. Is he not excited about this? Can he experience excitement, even?    
When his skin had prickled at the snow he’d held too long, Connor had seemed pleased to experience the sensation of pain. A sensation no one should come to enjoy unless it has one feel ‘alive’. Is this not why Connor had appreciated the feeling?

Is Hank, once a-fucking-gain, looking too deeply into it?

“Do you feel... more alive?” Hank tries again, looks down at his food and stabs it aggressively, sincerely annoyed at the kid’s thick skull.

“I am not alive, lieutenant. I merely exist.”

The fork on Hank’s plate screeches to a stop. He squeezes the utensil, a sense of rage washing over him at once again being replied to by a piece of plastic and not the doe-eyed boy he wants this fucker to be.   
A jolt of insanity beckons Hank to get up, walk over to Connor and stab him between the eyes with his fork, just to see if he’d experience pain, fear, distress. 

The lieutenant stays seated, holds on to the table with his free hand, just in case.

“ So you keep fucking mentioning.” Hank grumbles.

“It upsets you.” Though Connor’s intonation hints at a question, his head does not tilt and his eyes are not searching. He already knows, probably observed the lieutenant’s body-temperature increase at the rage that fueled him for a handful of seconds.

“Is it because you want to see me as your son?”

Before Connor finished his sentence, Hank already knew what he was going to say and hence it takes him all of two swift seconds before he rounds the table and lifts the android off his seat before he’s pronounced the last word.

_ Son. _

Who the hell does this prick think he is?   
Hank experiences a near-blinding rage at the mere thought of someone daring to mention Cole without his consent. The idea that a fucking robot believes it knows about human emotion, trauma, _grief_ , punches the air out of the man.   
The audacity, to claim Hank perceives Connor as anything close to his son is laughable at best, horrific at worst.

He couldn’t be farther from the truth this time around. It has nothing to do with his son and he’ll make sure to get it through the tin-can's dumb head.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Hank hisses once he finds himself nose-to-nose with the android. The man is shaking, his knees trembling, but there’s no strain in either of his arms which he’s using to hover Connor a couple of inches off the floor. Connor is heavy, heavier than a man his size and length would be, but Hank could still easily throw him over his shoulder or drag him out of his house.

The LED pulsates yellow and Connor’s eyes shift, pupils adjusting their size repeatedly as if trying to bring Hank into focus within the awkward angle and proximity.

“I asked you if me not being alive is upsetting to you because you would prefer to see me as a sort of replacement for your deceased son.”

Hank didn’t think Connor could’ve worded it even more horrendously than he did the first time and it completely justifies the reason behind why he throws him to the floor. The movement is sudden, performed on instinct, every fiber inside of Hank telling him to put distance between Connor and himself so he doesn’t end up murdering him.

The android has the audacity to not even grit his teeth or huff when impacting the floor. He only looks up at Hank as he leans back on his hands, one leg stretched, the other bent at the knee. An odd position to remain in when involved in a fight like this.

And though it should anger Hank, though it should be insulting to him to find no fear within the android, his shoulders sag.

Regret immediately laps at the anger in his vision when seeing how timid Connor behaves. It’d be so much fucking easier if he could convince himself that this android is nothing but a cocky brat out to fuck him over. And though Hank’s negative thoughts tell him this is exactly what he believes... A greater part of him has convinced him over time that Connor is far more aware and far more innocent than what he’s been created to be.

Towering over him, hands folded into fists, the lieutenant observes Connor closely for a moment. He’s panting, out of breath by sheer anger alone and Connor appears as peaceful as ever... Except for the yellow flickering on his right temple.

“I am sorry. I should have chosen my words more carefully.”

“You should’ve kept your fucking mouth shut, that’s what you should’ve done.” Hank throws back and watches Connor open his lips to retaliate before he does snap his mouth shut abruptly. Silence ensues.

“Don’t ever fucking bring Cole into this, Connor.” Hank raises his voice, points at the android on the floor, shaking his finger with every word he barks at him.

Connor holds his eye, but his lips thin as if he’s holding back the urge to speak, which he very likely is.

“Shut up.” Hank repeats for good measure. “Got it?”

The circle swirls yellow, red, yellow. Fades back into blue eventually before Connor speaks.

“Got it.”

Reaching out a hand, Hank waits for the android to grab it, even if the piece of plastic is very capable of getting up by himself.

Connor eyes his hand. Not warily, not uncertain either. He just gazes at it for a few seconds before he clasps his own into it and is pulled up onto his feet with Hank’s help.   
Once back on his feet, the android no longer meets Hank’s eye, instead excusing himself with a murmur of ‘laundry’.

Watching him go, with rage simmering down into a nauseated feeling, Hank realizes he’s never before heard Connor mutter words in such a subdued, insecure fashion before.  _ Ever _ .

* * *

Hank discovers the perversion when he clasps a hand around the back of Connor’s neck and has the robot’s knees buckle. At first, he assumes he hit a loose wire or some shallow-surfaced  computer chip , but the manner in which the android assures him that he is ‘FINE, JUST FINE’ has him lie awake at night.

It could still have been a malfunction. Even the shouted excuse; the sheer volume and haste to it could’ve been because Hank had knocked loose a wire or triggered some error processor within the kid.

It could’ve... And it’d be a lot easier to believe so. But Hank fucking knows better.   
The only doubt within him is related to Connor being ruled by software and coding. Had the kid been actually human, the man would be certain of what he’d recognized within Connor’s physical reaction to being touched hard-handedly by his companion.

He hadn’t considered it before. Though aware of his own emotions regarding the android –emotions which he continues to lock up in the back of his mind, hoping they’ll die along with the braincells he annihilated over the years by drowning them in whiskey- he hadn’t considered anything similar going on within Connor.

Connor’s a fancy robot when it comes down to it. Overpriced plastic and cables, shit Hank could put together himself in his garage if he had the brains for it. Well, doubtful, but that isn’t the point.

Earlier remarks mentioned by the android slither into the forefront of Hank’s mind, where they writhe, pulsate and grow and press until he can’t ignore them any longer. Connor’s mentioned the enjoyment experienced in touching. He’s mentioned the preference towards being told what to do rather than decide on his own. He told –confronted- Hank about being aware of his heartrate picking up whenever interacting with him in peculiar manners.   
The android is as well always interested in Hank’s opinions, Hank’s point of view, listens attentively, nods encouragingly.

Smiles at times.

Nods and attempts to joke, attempts to amuse the lieutenant.

Shrugs and bumps his shoulder. His knee... Resting it against Hank’s until the latter would pull away.

Hank scowls at the ceiling. He’s offended that after decades of working as an investigator, it took him at least a year to pick up on subtle details communicated to him by his android. Details which shine a light on a far larger story behind the whole ‘I feel things and so now I want to touch  things’ charade.

For a moment Hank considers it to be wishful thinking on his part, which immediately has him grow tense for it has him accidentally admit to himself that there is an interest in Connor from his part.   
The entire idea of himself being desperate enough to believe Connor is interested in him not only because he’s human, but because there might be a sense of romance or sexuality deviated into the android’s code, entirely breaks down the wall he’d built around his own desires.

Desires which disgust him as they’re now dancing across his retina, mocking him for being a dirty old man.

Hank’s an old-fashioned man. It takes time for him to adjust to anything new, anything modern out there. Having grown up alongside the creation of androids has been a curse as much as a blessing.   
He knows what it was like, before ‘them’. Fancy phones and powerful computers to help along human existence. The technologizing of jobs, certainly caused plenty to get fired from occupations that could become automated, yet as well offered plenty of new open spots in the market of coding machinery, of inventing new creations.

But androids... the new scapegoat. ‘Stealing the people’s work’ for some, while others perceive them as the perfect solution to perform labor undesired by human kind. And as is often the case, the masses adjust, as individuals seethe.

The lieutenant adjusted overtime. He saw the good and bad in androids infiltrating the system. And despite his earlier animosity towards them, witnessing humanity within these tin-cans had changed his opinion on them entirely.

Regardless... That doesn’t fucking mean he’s openminded enough to consider fucking one.

‘And why not?’ His thoughts tease. ‘If they’re truly considered individuals, then why not human? You’d date any gender and any race... But not an android who is becoming more human by the day?’

See, Hank’s talented at being in denial and Hank’s a coward when it comes to his emotions. Besides that, Hank is very much a hypocrite as well.

Yeah, yeah... People can fuck androids. They can date them, fuckin’ marry them for all he cares.

But not lieutenant Anderson. He won’t, because... 

“Hank?”

Had he been an android, he’s sure he would’ve shot out of his own skin at hearing Connor whispering his name from his bedroom’s doorway.

“What the fuck, Connor?!” The man barks at him, sitting up in bed and glaring at the shadow hesitating in the hallway.

“I noticed you were not asleep.”

“Stop scanning me, for the love of-”

“I was not required to run an analysis on you to find out, lieutenant. You were commenting at the ceiling in a rather chagrined fashion.”

Staring at Connor’s silhouette, Hank searches for a comeback and finds none. He does tend to mutter under his breath when on edge and whether he takes the android on his word or not isn’t the real issue of the current situation.

The actual issue lies in why Connor’s decided to visit him in his bedroom at close to two in the morning.   
The tin-can, for all his lack of tact, knows better than to disturb a human in their sleep, even if not actually passed out. Bedrooms are, after all, considered a private environment. Even if living together, Connor doesn’t enter the room at night, only goes inside when needing to collect laundry or clean around, which is never at two in the morning.

“What is it?” Hank asks after a moment, curiosity settling down the agitation fueled solely by embarrassment –a part of him still convinced Connor can read his mind and is aware of the dirty thoughts he’s locked and sealed-.

The very moment he asks him, the glow on his doorframe changes from blue to red.

Some freaky  night-vision must show Connor where Hank’s looking because he hastily covers his temple, blocking the LED from reflecting tellingly into the dark environment.

“I wanted to ask you something.” Connor starts his tactic to ease into a question, his voice gentle, his pronunciation light. It reminds Hank immediately of the multiple times the android had thrown the ‘can I ask you a personal question, lieutenant?’ before he’d query him about the most personal aspects of his life; his deceased son, his alcohol problem, his suicidal tendencies.

Naturally, Hank grows tense. And rather unnaturally, Connor immediately notices it for he remains quiet.

“Spit it out, kid.” The man grunts, reaches over to the bedside table to flick on the nightlamp. 

Their eyes meet through the dim lighting and Connor lowers his hand from his temple. His eyebrows are knotted together, arching up enough to have wrinkles form between them. He appears worried.

“Can I join you?”

They stare at each other for a long moment after the android asked the peculiar question. Hank isn’t sure he heard him right, and if he did; if it meant what he thinks it meant.   
Join him. Join him in what? Foul-mouthing the ceiling? Lying awake in bed imagining the punishment hell will put him through once he’s six feet under because of the imagery his mind has been conjuring up. Imagery of Connor, and Hank, together. _Joined_.

Imagery which ignited the sensation he’s been refusing to say out loud when gritting his teeth at his reflection in the bathroom mirror in the mornings. Those three fucking  syllables . That one fucking word that reduces Hank to a damned fool. A weak man objectifying a person who’s already perceived as just a plastic bundle of wires by most of the people out there.

But then Hank goes ahead and calls the kid a tin-can, an overpriced Robocop, a Ken doll. Because he never follows his own rules, does he? ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ runs through the man’s veins effortlessly. The true pulse of a hypocrite.

“No.”

The reply is simple, lacks volume, lacks snark or even outrage. But this causes for the one word to ring rather crudely nonetheless. And it shows in how Connor’s shoulders draw up. It’s similar to a shrug but Hank recognizes the tinge of a grimace on his features and knows the kid had subconsciously attempted to draw in on himself.

It should upset him when the android wishes him a good night and leaves him alone. But next to relief, Hank as well experiences awe for the emotion witnessed within Connor.   
Even if negative... He’d reacted in a realistic manner. Connor had been disappointed, right? Upset maybe?

The lieutenant replays the murmur he’d heard after he’d pushed Connor to the floor not that long ago, matches it up to the expression he’d seen on his face just now.

There’s hurt. He’s hurt  him. Connor’s capability of experiencing physical pain has migrated through to whatever it is that makes up his brain. Emotional turmoil has begun to swirl and as excited as Hank is to see this boy become human, he grows nervous over the knowledge of the pain he can inflict on him.

Hank’s a coward, a damned hypocrite and a pervert. Moreover, he’s unlovable and he means this in the most non-romanticized manner possible.

It’s not that the lieutenant feels sorry for himself. He doesn’t pity himself for being old and worn, bitter and rough.   
The unlovable aspect lies within how difficult it actually is for others to love him.

Even before... Before Cole, before alcohol and weekly lonesome games of Russian Roulette, Hank had been impossible to get close to, let alone have a relationship with.   
His ex-wife had somehow managed to overlook his flaws for close to a decade before Cole’s death tore them apart. Yet, even before his son had been born, there’d been issues.

Issues that remain unsolved because Hank, the fucking coward he is, never attempted to ‘fix’ himself for anyone. Not even her.

Not even Cole.

So, why would he for a fuckin’ android?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out [this beautiful fanart](https://latexkaktus.tumblr.com/post/611106568922185728/little-sketch-i-did-for-the-amazing-hankcon) which [LatexKaktus](https://twitter.com/LatexKaktus) created for this chapter!

None of them mention last night and it surprises Hank to some degree. 

Connor’s not someone to avoid the issue at hand. The android has a habit of running his mouth, no matter how intellectual he’s been created to be, he often times will form opinions and facts out loud without second-guessing himself or what it is that he is saying. 

So maybe, again, it’s more Hank’s problem than it is Connor’s. Maybe the android’s forgotten all about it by now. Maybe he just doesn’t care all that much and took Hank’s ‘no’ to heart. Done and solved. No ambiguity to it. A robotic approach to a more complex display of communication. 

‘No’ isn’t the end to matters and the man is aware of it, though doubtful that Connor is. 

But, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?   
Hank frowns at his own pondering, despising how self-reflective he can become whenever anything goes against the smooth sailing of things. Spending time in his own head never brought anything good along with it. Certainly, he’s gained insight, there’s depth to him, observation within himself allowing him to read others which had proved useful throughout his career.   
But it as well makes it hard to be rooted into denial. 

Desiring to return to the ‘Connor’s a pretty face and I just haven’t got laid in half a decade’ excuse, Hank resolutely ignores the android’s new behavior. 

For exactly three and a half days. 

“Stop touching yourself, Connor.” The words come out far more perverted than he wanted them to. But it’s too late and all he can do is hope the kid has yet to teach himself about human ambiguity and flirtation. The latter of which Hank is not participating in whatsoever. 

Connor looks over at him, lips parted as he exhales even though Hank doubts that he’s taken a breath at any time during the day. 

“Does it bother you?” The android asks and with it has the lieutenant feel as if he’s making a big deal out of it. Which, honestly, he is. 

Why is he so agitated at the kid rubbing the back of his own neck about a hundred damn times a day? Because it’s distracting? Sure... That could be it.   
The truth lies far closer to how it triggers last week’s memory however. 

When he’d clasped Connor on the nape. When Connor had jolted at the touch. When it had presumably fueled the android to attempt to share a bed with Hank not that long after. 

Perhaps the both of them are absolutely starved for contact. Physical contact, that is. 

Maybe the idiot just needs a hug.   
The thought has Hank snort in bitter amusement before replying. 

“It’s distracting.” Not a lie. “I’m trying to read.” A big, damn lie as Hank’s been spending close to an hour gazing at Connor from the corner of his eye rather than read the book in his lap. 

“I apologize, lieutenant.” Is the android’s dry remark, though his hand remains on the back of his neck where he prods and pokes. 

“I’m not a lieutenant anymore.” Is the man’s reply, entirely off topic because that’s how he deals with conversations such as these; that is to say, rather poorly. 

“Your body reacts far more dramatically to being called Hank than it does lieutenant. I am only trying to go easy on you.” 

Though Connor’s features betray none of what’s going on in that motherboard of his, Hank narrows his eyes at the remark which had carried some arrogance to it. Perhaps even some wit. But with the lack of intonation and facial expressions, he can’t be certain. 

“Go easy on me?” Hank repeats the words slowly, tilts his head not unlike Connor tends to do when curious or confused. 

“Either way, to come back to what we were discussing before, _Hank_. I have been attempting to recreate a sensation similar to the one I experienced when you touched me on the nape of my neck. It is proven difficult to even come close to and it has me feeling almost disturbed because I cannot find a legitimate reason as to why I would be unable to mimic the motion of a human hand.” 

It’s a long-fucking-winded answer to accidentally confess to Hank that it’s not the touch but the person behind the touch that’s inflicted such an effect on him. 

Leaning back in the couch, he gazes at Connor in wonder. He frowns deeply, is convinced that he’s gained half a dozen wrinkles in the past month alone because of how confusing and frustrating this android’s been. 

Surely, he isn’t reading this correctly. Were Connor human, again, Hank would have put the pieces together by now and exactly know what is going on. But this kid being an android complicates matters, has the lieutenant second-guess his own instincts continuously. 

Despite it being _so clear_. 

It’s so glaringly obvious. So in-his-face that it has him recoil rather than grab it by the horns and go to town with it. 

Hank can deal with his own dirty thoughts. He can lock them away, kick himself in the ass for them and never have the fantasies see the light of day. He can even get back into drinking if necessary to numb any thoughts. Hank is capable of keeping himself in line, to a frustrating degree. 

Yet, if his assumptions are correct. If this tin-can has his own ‘perversions’ when it comes to Hank, he may as well throw in the towel and do what he’ll certainly regret right now. 

Which, of course, he won’t. Cowardly as he is.   
Not to mention, there is still that chance that the android’s deviancy is resulting in absurd longings that would not suit him were he... well, _human_. Something he will never be. A fact that Hank despises to face. 

“I slapped you hard, though.” Is his lame excuse after he’s stared a solid minute at the kid prodding his own neck, head dipped to his chest. “Besides, the angle might be off.” Hank points out for good measure, finding any graspable excuse to make sure Connor doesn’t figure out the possible truth.   
Being that he’s into the lieutenant. 

The thought is absurd. A young man as attractive and bright as Connor would never go after Hank. Not in a world before androids.   
Apparently, they didn’t just fuck up with Connor’s face and voice, but moreover his standards. 

It has Hank consider if the kid’s been programmed for seduction as well. Created to investigate and solve crimes might have also called for a few lines of code to assure he can flirt his way through a situation calling for it. Hank knows charm is an important factor when bluffing your way into a suspect’s trust and though he’s never had soft enough looks to consider flirtation, it’d suit Connor perfectly on the scene. 

So, standards, or tastes, triggered by deviancy must be terribly askew. 

“Can you do it again?” 

A damn plot-hole. Hank had not considered his attempt at diverting Connor’s train of thought would open up a whole new path downhill. 

He wants to say ‘no’. It’s easy. He’d done it before. Had done it that night after Connor’s far more shocking request than the current ‘slap me on the neck, will you?’. And yet he stutters in his speech, pronouncing only a few sounds that form not a single word to convince either one of them that a smack on the neck isn’t in order. 

Glancing at the blue LED, Hank considers it. The kid’s calm, it isn’t a big deal to him or else he’d be flickering all colors of the rainbow at the silence between them. Again, it is Hank dramatizing the entire situation beyond what it actually is. 

He’s just a damn robot. Plastic and cables. Programming and algorithms. There’s no lust or desire... And if there is, it’s all fake either way; easy to deal with, probably capable of being coded right the fuck out of him. 

“Fine, c’mere.” Hank grumbles as he puts his arm on the back of the couch before waving him over. He makes sure to add a sigh and a rolling of the eyes when Connor scoots closer to him. 

The distance between them is marginal at best. Hank’s relieved to note that the android is keeping his legs pressed together, no spreading for a knee to touch his’. 

He watches for a moment, observes how stiffly the kid is sitting next to him. How subdued he comes across with his head dipped and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Even his shoulders are drawn up lightly, anticipating a hand to be clasped onto his nape. 

Were Hank a dirtier man... Were Connor human... he’d pull him closer and shove his tongue down his throat unceremoniously. But as it is, Hank’s in control of himself and Connor is very much a plastic boy, proven in how still he is sitting, not a breath taken in ages. 

His hand reaches closer from where it is resting on the back of the couch to the exposed nape of Connor’s neck. Two matters make Hank halt before he touches him.   
Firstly, there is the warmth radiating off of Connor. The kid’s capable of regulating a heat underneath his synthetic skin similar to that of humans. It’s an aesthetic part of his and other androids’ designs, created solely to make interacting with human beings develop more smoothly. From shaking a warm hand to welcome an android to the job, to embracing the android child bought with one’s life-savings.   
It’s not unfamiliar in that sense, but it still has Hank pause because the heat of it travels inches off Connor’s skin as if desiring to lure in his touch. 

Secondly, it’s how he just admitted to himself the desire to _kiss_ him. 

Seemingly his own standards had lowered significantly as well, so readily wanting to experience intimacy with a damn robot. 

It should make him change his mind and for a split second, Hank does consider getting up and walking away. But his fingers itch... burn and urge him to touch. _Touch him_. It’s not a big deal. ‘Forget about the kid’s deviant craving which he has yet to figure out anyways. Forget about your own dirty fantasies.’ 

Just touch him. 

Do it. 

Connor jolts the moment Hank presses the tips of his fingers against the nape of his neck. It is not at all similar to how he touched him the first time. It’s not a friendly slap, a little ruffle and shake like someone would do with a friend, congratulating them or urging them that ‘it’s gonna be alright, man’ or a ‘well done, buddy’. 

No. It’s deceptively intimate and a selfish and frightened part within Hank hopes Connor has yet to figure out that the slower and lighter the touch, the more seduction is related to it.   
If Connor would be aware of this, then this would not only mean that he’s seeing right through Hank, but as well that he himself had used the tactic before on the human. 

The sliding of fingers down Hank’s shoulder and the brushing of knees races through the forefront of his mind momentarily. Connor knows, doesn’t he? 

Stuck in the moment, Hank’s got two options. He either removes himself entirely or he indulges, stays deaf to the voice in his head shouting for him to stop before it’s too late, and flattens out his hand across the android’s hot skin. 

The latter holds more temptation within. Hank wants to. Wants to feel how soft Connor is, wants to brush his calloused palm up against the short hairs protruding the base of the young man’s skull.   
And yet, he wouldn’t have. He planned not to. 

But Connor leans up and back slightly, forces Hank’s fingers to spread across the push against them until his palm cradles the android’s nape. They both audibly inhale. 

The red LED is glaring at Hank who can do nothing but sit stiffly, watch tensely, sense the heat melting into his palm so deeply it feels like their skin is melding into one union of organic plastic. 

“Oh.” Is Connor’s quiet remark at the touch. He sounds only mildly surprised, the intonation carrying across more thoughtfulness than it does shock. 

Hank is frozen in place, too much of a coward to move a single digit across the kid’s skin, or to even pull away. 

“I miscalculated.” The android says in a soft tone, speaking to himself more than to Hank. “It seems that the sensation is correlated with the performer rather than the performance.” 

The red swirls into a yellow, which continues to pulsate as Hank bites his tongue. What more proof does he need to hear? It’s out in the open now. In some way, some manner, however the fuck it works, Connor’s developed feelings towards Hank that seem more intense than just having an interest in him for being human.   
This goes beyond curiosity. This might even border on intrigue, if not some form of fascination. 

A rather vain thought to possess, but Hank uses the ‘android’ card to his advantage this time around.   
Sure, a human version of Connor wouldn’t look at him twice... But this deviant little shit could very well do exactly that. And has... 

The staring. The poor joke-telling. The coy slips of Hank’s first name. The bold remarks on Hank’s own physical reactions towards him. 

The touching... 

Holding his breath, Hank squeezes slightly. It’s barely any pressure, really. It’s so light that his dog Sumo wouldn’t even notice it through his fur.   
But Connor stirs dramatically, shifts in his seat and has his eyes flutter as if Hank had just pinched his nipple after three hours of foreplay. 

And that’s exactly what the hell this is. It’s lewd in the most prude sense of the word. It’s teasing, flirting and seducing... Politer words to describe the act they’re performing –or rather Hank is practicing upon Connor-, which is just downright foreplay. 

Now is the perfect time to remove his hand and get up. The lieutenant has to remove himself from the situation right now before he tugs the android closer and fucking molests him right there on the living-room couch. 

Connor hastily brings up his own hand when Hank goes to loosen and remove the hold he has on his nape. 

Red illuminates the space between them. 

“Don’t.” Connor says. Soft, vulnerability betrayed in the red light pulsating beneath his temple. “Not yet.” He adds, presses down on Hank’s hand long enough for the man to figure out he wants him to squeeze his neck a tad more firmly. 

He does -squeeze Connor’s nape- and watches the android’s eyes flutter in sync with the flicker of his LED. Even his body seems to desire to collapse on the spot as those shoulders finally relax and sag down.   
The appearance of Connor coming undone at such a slow and sensual pace has Hank’s mouth run dry and, self-indulgently, he grabs him a bit harder. 

Fascination coils within the roots of obsession the moment Connor exhales a high-pitched stutter one could only describe as a whimper. 

Why is Connor getting off on this? That’s what is happening, isn’t it? The closed eyes, the sway in his body as he pushes himself up into Hank’s hold each and every time the man squeezes. _The fucking whimper._

His LED pulsates in yellows and reds so urgently the circle appears orange in its processing confusion and Hank is certain that if he had one of those lamps in his skull, it would have overheated by now and snapped. 

Letting his thumb brush over the side of his neck –his hand large enough to have the digit reach to brush across the side of Connor’s Adam’s Apple- Hank tries to figure out why the android is so into this.   
Granted, had Hank been a decade younger, he would’ve been squirming in his pants by now at how arousing the sight before him is, but that’s entirely logical. Connor’s an attractive kid, absolutely the type Hank used to go for back in college, and certainly they’ve bonded over the past year to enough of a degree where the lieutenant considers the android his closest friend. 

So, yeah, he can even excuse himself for fancying a damn piece of plastic when it comes down to it. 

What Hank is far more curious about, however, is why this intelligent creature is getting sexually stimulated by having his neck held in Hank’s grip.   
There could be plenty of reasons for it... Deviancy works in unpredictable ways, highly similar to how human kind works as they’re ruled by emotion and impulse rather than cold logic such as androids did before this virus spread. 

He reminds himself of the Tracis back in Eden Club. How they’d held hands, how they’d confessed to desiring to run away together. The eye-contact and body-language mimicking behavior seen in people who are dating and in love.   
Deviants, as such, must be capable of experiencing romantic feelings for one another. And with romance, often times came sexuality. 

And sure, that all could be it... Sure, Connor may be having a crush on Hank. Sure, Connor might be getting turned on at the promise of having sexual interaction with Hank. 

But that doesn’t explain why he’s so eager to have his neck held. It’s stupid, has Hank experience second-hand-embarrassment for an entire minute before he considers this idiot might be so much in love that anything would turn him on. 

It’s odd to witness Connor in such a vulnerable state. The android is often sure of himself, has arrogance running along with the blue blood in his veins. He’s bright and witty at some times, but as well awfully tactless and thick when it comes to some aspects in human relationships.   
Perhaps, this is just another thing he’s downloaded the wrong shit for. Perhaps Connor damaged his own program with a shit-ton of pornography that is out there and accidentally had himself get horny at the lightest touches and glances. 

The thought is amusing, makes Hank feel a bit more in control. Connor makes mistakes, Connor isn’t perfect and in this very moment, Connor is very much overwhelmed and at Hank’s mercy.   
It turns the lieutenant on as much as it comforts him; feeds that irregular desire to humanize the android. 

“Con.” Hank mutters awkwardly, trying to remove his hand before enough blood is pumped down between his legs. Connor would certainly notice. 

“Tell me.” The android says, eyes still closed, head tilted and his hand back on Hank’s to keep it on his nape. 

Hank stirs awkwardly as Connor cranes his neck, puts his thumb atop the man’s, forcefully having it continue stroking his throat. The man gulps. 

“What?” He dumbly asks. 

The LED goes yellow, the flickering subsided in order to have the light swirl gently. 

“Tell me what to do.” Connor clarifies, though Hank’s left as confused as before. 

Continuing to watch the android caress himself with Hank’s hand, he tries to decipher the human words spoken so vaguely by this tin-can. 

As much as he loathes emotional situations, Hank does enjoy analyzing and investigating and a part of his mind –the part that is horny and working hard to convince the other part that fucking Connor is an absolutely brilliant idea that will not have repercussions- sets to work. 

Connor’s mentioned it before, though less blatantly and not in a state of seemingly bordering on climaxing on his couch. ‘ _I would rather have someone tell me what to do at what times, preferable twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week._ ’ 

The words had been so innocent back then. Connor had spoken about feeling lost, about not knowing what to do with freedom and desiring to have a purpose. The pieces had clicked together and it had all made perfect sense back then. But Hank had failed to include the other evidence; that is the touching and staring. 

Connor wants regulation. Connor needs to be directed. Connor... strong and arrogant android Connor, grows liquid in Hank’s hold. He’s searing hot, the simulation of breathing now closer to that of panting. His plastic and metal body squirming on the couch, legs pressing together as if urging his desire to settle down. 

Glancing down at Connor’s lap, Hank wonders if there’s something there to grow hard and it’s finally a thought that has his brain shout at him for taking things too far. 

The man jumps up from his seat, removes his hand from Connor’s grip so suddenly the boy is left blinking in confusion. 

Their eyes meet and for the first time Connor seems panicked. His lips part, his mouth opens and shuts as only small stuttered sounds roll of his tongue. It’s so fucking human that it nearly has Hank drop down to his knees to drag the android into an embrace. 

But Hank, cowardly hypocritical Hank, does what he does best. 

He pulls up his walls by means of a deadpan facial expression, turns on his heels and flees from the situation; leaving someone behind to pick up the pieces that Hank refuses to fix. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos and comments.  
> Wishing you all a lovely weekend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please check out [this beautiful fanart](https://latexkaktus.tumblr.com/post/611487194746667008/another-little-sketch-i-did-for-the-amazing) which [LatexKaktus](https://twitter.com/LatexKaktus) created for this chapter!

“We should talk.” 

“No, we shouldn’t.” Hank grumbles before he can think to reprimand the android for standing next to his bed at seven in the morning. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he glares up at Connor. 

“You shouldn’t be in here.” Hank points out the inappropriate behavior of being in his bedroom when he’s still in bed. 

“You run away from me anywhere else. I assume you will not remove yourself this quickly from the situation if I take advantage of not only your state of dress but as well the mellowness that comes with waking up after a mere four hours and thirty-three minutes of sleep.” 

“You give me a headache, Connor.” The lieutenant growls before he pulls the blanket over his head and turns on his side, back facing the android. 

“The more likely culprit may be the liquor you consumed last night, lieutenant.” 

Hank freezes. The foul taste in his mouth, the tight knot in his stomach and the dull ache in his skull. He’d relapsed... Last night. Had went to a night shop, purchased whiskey and downed a few shots. Nothing close to the amount he used to consume on the daily... But enough to have him pass out in bed. Enough to drown the memory of what had happened earlier. 

A memory which now returns mercilessly, the image of a writhing Connor flashing across closed eyelids like a filthy movie. 

“Yeah...” Hank agrees from under the blanket, opens his eyes to stare into the dark. 

Disappointment laps at his conscience. He shouldn’t have done it... Of course. Yet, next to regret there’s also some masochistic approval to what he’s done. Hank had fucked up, Hank lives in denial and refuses to better himself. 

And for that he had payed. Once again. 

Weak bastard... 

Alcoholism picked back up is an issue Hank can easily deal with by just accepting it and hoping a bus will hit him before his liver can have him die a painful death. The real problem now is living with an android who wants to talk about their feelings even more than his ex-wife had. 

“We’ll talk... Later. Lemme wake up.” Hank assures Connor though he’s pretty sure he’s lying through his teeth at him. Regardless, it’ll get him off his back for now, unless he’s running a lie-detector test inside that body of his. 

“Thank you, Hank. We will talk later.” Connor repeats his words as if this will guilt Hank into making sure he follows through with what he’d assured. It won’t fucking work, though.   
He’s still the boss of himself and what he chooses to talk about, damn it. 

* * *

It does, in fact, _fucking work_. 

As seems to be the pattern, Connor grows thoughtful and a tad bold whenever Hank’s distracted by something else. Like eating food, once again, prepared by the tin-can who improves his cooking-skills daily and can now make a mean lasagna. 

“So, about yesterday.” Connor, as usual, lacks all subtlety and prefers to jump right into whatever he desires to discuss. Hank on the other hand prefers to beat around the bush when the subject includes himself. Another habit that goes hand-in-hand with his hypocrisy. He despises when people aren’t straight forward, but he’ll be damned if he opens up about himself when put on the spot. 

And Connor is rather talented at putting him on the spot. 

“What about it?” Hank asks him, rhetorically, of course. He knows very well what the kid means and hence shoves his mouth full of food and chews slowly to make sure he doesn’t have to reply within the first few minutes of being confronted with ‘cold hard facts’. 

Cold hard facts do not come. Instead, something far worse happens. The android’s words are uncertain and wavering. 

“What happened?” 

Hank swallows his food, burns his esophagus on the way down but hardly notices it as he’s too busy scowling at the android’s question. 

“... I drank?” He tries, uncharacteristically hopeful that the kid doesn’t want to speak about what had occurred on the couch. 

“No. I mean, earlier, Hank.” The android clarifies, shakes his head a bit as if willing down his LED which has already begun to flicker between blue and yellow. He covers it with his fingers, self-consciously. 

There’s different approaches Hank can take. The most preferred one is to pick up his plate of food and simply walk away to eat in peace someplace else in the house. Hank is aware, however, that no matter how well this tactic works with people who tend to take his snark to heart and never reach out to him afterwards, it isn’t bulletproof when it comes to this android in particular. 

Connor’s a nag. 

Hank can also bark. His voice is powerful, reins terror within those who don’t know him and even those who do, with the exception of a few who bark just as loudly.   
Lashing out is a tactic he’s relied on in the past and certainly, after he pushed Connor to the floor, the kid never again mentioned Cole, let alone the argument about him in the kitchen.   
But at what cost had this been? It still doesn’t sit right with the lieutenant, even if it worked. 

He isn’t an abuser, no matter how big and scary he tries to make himself come across as. 

The third and final tactic is to sit back and participate in the discussion head-on. 

“What are you talking about, exactly?” Hank tries, shovels some more food into his mouth as he avoids Connor’s stare. 

The android rubs his temple, frowns lightly, as if suffering from a hangover just like his human companion had earlier that same day. 

It’s not quite embarrassment that seems to be holding back Connor’s words. Shame is an entirely human emotion, one that no other mammal possesses, and however deviant the kid’s become... He’s not that far ahead quite yet. Nor is he a mammal.   
So, it must be legitimate confusion or even distress that has him chew on his words before finally speaking out loud. 

“The sensation, when you touched me.” He tries, frowns deeper as he stares at Hank’s plate of food. His gaze isn’t all there, however. The lieutenant doubts Connor’s taking in any visual cues whatsoever, his vision likely blocked by an abundance of error messages. 

Or maybe he’s replaying what had happened... Maybe he’s replaying what so obviously had been arousal. 

That one word with three syllables Hank had avoided pronouncing and matching to his own emotions regarding the kid. And here they both sit, both having experienced it together, though one of them hasn’t a clue as to the definition of it. 

Hank could just say that word, right here, throw it on the table between his lasagna and his android. Have Connor look up the definition for himself and likely get some more pornography shoved down his wires by even daring to look up that single word. 

Yeah, he could, maybe he even should... But it’s a lot easier to act aloof. As long as neither of them says it out loud, to the other, it’ll all be manageable.   
The moment it is thrown out there, the moment it is defined and agreed upon, nothing will manage to hold Hank back from eventually acting upon his desires. Not even a bottle of whiskey. Not even the fact the kid’s an overpriced robot. 

“I liked it.” Connor mutters and Hank scoffs bitterly around a mouthful of cheese and tomato sauce. ‘Liking it’ is an understatement. The fucker almost shot his load when Hank had squeezed his neck. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Is the lieutenant’s snappy return before shoveling some more food into his mouth. 

“As did you.” 

Hank’s jaw stops moving as he looks up from his plate to meet the android’s gaze. He isn’t sure he’d heard him right, isn’t even sure Connor knows what he’d just accused him of. 

He can’t actually deny it out loud to the android, however. It’ll only serve to back him further into the corner he’s set camp in for the past weeks. 

And yet still, he fuckin’ does exactly that after gulping down his dinner. 

“No, I didn’t.” It’s petulant. Childish. And incredibly unbelievable. 

Connor considers him for a moment, his face showing lines of amusement and the slack in his shoulders so human, it has Hank straighten up in his seat; on the defense. 

The man is resentful of how he never quite can tell what Connor will say, let alone do. The mystery lies in how unreadable the android tends to be. Even now, with the shadow of a smile cast across one corner of his mouth, with the flirtatious gaze from beneath his eyelashes...   
Were he human... Hank is certain Connor would perhaps stretch his leg under the table, toe at Hank’s ankle and murmur a request to pick up from where they left off. 

But with him being an android, the entire message being communicated to Hank is meaningless. Connor’s surprised him before, has caught Hank off guard numerous times where he’d pulled a facial expression meaning one thing, only to act out or say something entirely contrasting with what the lieutenant had braced himself for. 

This won’t be any different. The man can already feel a storm brewing above his head and a part of him hopes lightning will strike him right into a premature grave and spare him from having to listen to this wet dream talk about getting horny over having his neck rubbed. 

“Okay, Hank.” Connor says, pulling himself back together before he closes his eyes to do fuck-knows-what. 

Hank spends a significant amount of time just staring at the android across from him. His frown is deep, his food goes cold and his mind continues to strangle itself in trying to figure out what Connor is up to.   
Connor had been the one wanting to address this topic. Connor is the one who’d appeared a tad unsure only minutes ago. And Connor is the one who’d brushed off Hank’s lie as if aware of it and not even wanting to bother having a discussion. 

Mentally... He bristles at the condescending touch to how he is being handled... Being disregarded, rather literally as the kid’s closed his eyes to him. 

Gazing at the android’s LED, it shows a cool blue color. No yellow replaces it at any given time to notify Hank of Connor perhaps running an update or downloading some weird neck-caressing pornography. 

The android is ignoring Hank. Performing the simplest task to remove himself from the situation; closing his fucking eyes to it.   
The arrogance to it is only dampened by its humoristic undercurrent. 

Despite his tendency to be a bit of a hothead when it comes to sitting at the receiving end of disrespect, Hank finds himself curious over the reasoning behind Connor’s acts. Is he teasing Hank? Unlikely. Is he actually believing that closing his eyes is an effective way to cease an interaction like some absolute idiot; yes. 

“Alright. Fine.” The detective grumbles as he plays with his cold food for a moment longer before getting up to clear the table. He can _feel_ the android stir, more than see it. “I liked it too.” Hank admits with a huff. 

“You did?” Connor says, mystified, and has Hank glare at him from over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean ‘ _you did_ ’? You acted like you were so damn certain about it!” 

Connor shrinks in his seat only slightly before he does that thing again, that dumb shrug of his shoulders. 

“It is called bluffing, lieutenant. You know a thing or two about it, if I am not mistaken.” 

The man is left to scowl for a moment as he chews over Connor’s words, has them dissolve across his pallet as if this will allow him to taste another possible lie.   
He inhales through his nose loudly, a sniff of agitation before he resumes scraping the food off his plate into a cupboard hidden trashcan. 

“I thought you could fuckin’ read me, Connor. What’s all that about then?” He accuses, tossing the plate and cutlery into the sink before he turns around and leans back against the kitchen counter. Their eyes meet shortly before Connor gazes away as if apologetic. 

“Well, despite my capabilities of running a physical examination on you at any given time, the reasoning behind some physical reactions are as much a mystery to me as most of the thoughts that are taking place in your mind are.” 

“English, Connor, please.” 

The android sits up more stiffly, nods and rubs his hands across his thighs as if getting rid of sweat on his palms. 

“Arousal, lieutenant, is not at all times a physical reaction stirred by positive or sexual excitement.” 

The hairs on the back of Hank’s neck stand up at hearing the kid pronounce the word he’d been avoiding for months now.   
He’s always expected he would have had to spell it out to him one day, those three syllables. 

The stirring within the man must be obvious because the android hesitates, his LED swishing yellow momentarily. 

“Go on.” Hank murmurs, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the trembling in his knees. He crosses his legs at the ankles, hoping that even though the kid can probably hear how rapidly the muscle in his chest is beating, that his body language will soothe him into continuing regardless.   
Even with every fiber in the lieutenant urging him to push his weight off the counter and flee the kitchen, he holds his position. He has to stay, squeezes the fake marble behind him, convinces himself that the worst that can happen is that Connor will outright walk over and try to suck his dick. 

The image has his heart skip yet another beat and he mentally curses at himself for letting his thoughts wander into such deprecated territory. 

“I can hear when your heart pounds in your chest, and I can smell the sweat on your body, I can see the dilation of your pupils and the drying of your lips, the clenching of your jaws and overall I am aware of every detail betraying the physical reaction of arousal within a human being.” Connor explains further, pauses before he continues.   
“However, what the cause is of this physical state remains a mystery more often than not. I am not yet sensitive to the small hints and gives in people that communicate more subtle truths to the perceiver. The differences between flirtation and friendliness. The border between agitation and sarcasm. The line that runs along frustration or a cry for help. They’re rather unreadable to me, Hank.” 

Connor glances up at Hank, his face stoic except for those eyebrows drawing together in mild distress. 

“Your state of arousal could be fueled as much by anger as it could by a sexual interest. And as such, my claim of your enjoyment was merely an estimate. An assumption calculated along with past behaviors I have recognized in you when it comes to your interactions with myself.” 

The lieutenant glances at the refrigerator as a silence stretches on. He craves a beer, something to have in his hands and fumble with, something to sip from and give him time to come up with a response to what had just been shared with him. 

Connor follows his gaze before darting his eyes back to Hank’s. 

“Would you like something to drink, lieutenant?” 

“Do you approve?” Hank attempts at teasing the kid, though it comes out breathless, his head spinning at the anxiety of his true desires coming undone; spilling onto the floor in an ugly mess of writhing perversions. Connor _knows_ , this is no longer questionable. The android is aware Hank’s been experiencing arousal around him and the only thing keeping up appearances is the fact that he has yet to figure out the ‘why’ to it. 

It’s just a matter of time, however... Connor is perceptive, his deviancy evolving daily and allowing him to finally start reading between the lines; making assumptions, bluffing and perhaps even hoping. Manipulation might as well be a fine-tuned talent by now. 

“Does it matter if I do not?” The young-looking android throws back, lifts a single eyebrow in an almost cocky manner before he gets up and walks over to the fridge. 

A bottle of beer is retrieved and Hank cringes as he watches Connor undo the cap by placing the top between his teeth. It pops off with a hiss.   
As Connor hands over the drink, Hank stares at how the android sticks out his tongue lightly, the beer-cap balancing on the tip before his long fingers pluck it away and toss it into the nearby trashcan. 

“Never do that again.” The lieutenant murmurs before taking a swig, his eyes never looking away from the kid’s mouth which has returned to a neutral line, framed by curvy lips. 

“Why? Does it arouse you?” Connor asks, his voice dulled as he’s turned around, walking into the adjoined living room. 

Hank is left blinking in confusion. The dynamic’s shifted, Connor’s shifted. The hinting at a loss of control has him on edge immediately.   
Downing the bottle in one go, the man considers following Connor. He could join him on the couch, let his knee rest against his’, rub his neck like a dirty old man until either one of them climaxes touchless like a damn fucking teenager in heat. 

But the coward awakens tenfold, only rivalled by the agitation of being dismissed and left hanging in such an aloof manner. As much as Hank wants to lock himself in his bedroom and not come out for a week, he as well wants to grab the kid by the scruff of his neck and shake the arrogance out of him.   
Arrogance which he might as well have imagined. Connor’s still awkward with portraying certain human emotions correctly and a sly remark could be innocent. Could be intentional. There’s not really a way to tell, unless Hank asks him... And even then... With Connor’s lying, his bluffing, his possible attempt at manipulating, the lieutenant can’t even trust an answer from now on. 

But isn’t that what he wanted from the start? 

What is more human than lying for one’s own benefit? What’s more human than calculating words and attempts at backing someone into a corner? What’s more human than animosity veiled underneath temptation? 

Such human behavior only serves to excite the lieutenant further. The more imperfect Connor becomes, the less in control Hank feels. Which, honestly, he hadn’t quite seen coming.   
Turns out that a robot is far easier to keep in hand than a deviant. And it makes perfect sense _now_... Blame the fucking denial. 

Minutes crawl by and with insecurity experienced, his coping mechanism enlarges, beckons him to pass by the refrigerator and instead check the cupboard for the whiskey he hadn’t managed to finish last night. He caves. 

Hank pours himself a glass, stares at the back of Connor’s head as the kid is seemingly staring at the television in front of him. The android’s probably smelling the whiskey by now, can hear the clink of the bottle’s neck hitting the rim of the tumbler; clattering in Hank’s shaky impatience. 

One shot turns into two, into three, and four shots later Hank already feels the buzz; his tolerance having taken a beating over the last couple of months of abstaining from alcohol. 

He spends a long time sitting at the table, staring at the back of Connor’s head, drilling through his skull, beckoning him with his thoughts. Calling him over mentally, though uncertain as to what he’d do if the android decided to hear him and obey. 

Obey. 

Hank’s earlier assumptions hit him square in the face, taking his breath away more than the burn of the whiskey he’s nursing. Connor’s desire to obey, to be told what to do. Imagined or not, a dirty fantasy or not, Hank’s curiosity rumbles in his chest at the mere idea of being right about this. 

A rumble which travels up his throat, rolls across his tongue until a sound is made. 

“Connor.” 

Though not having meant to call the android, Hank fails to panic when the kid turns around on the couch to face him curiously. The whiskey smoothens not only the knot in his stomach, but as well the tremble in his body and the flutter of his heart. 

“Yes, Hank?” 

Hank... Hank, he says it so crudely. It is torture to hear his name spoken in that thick and hoarse and stupid voice of his. 

Unsure of what he wanted to say in the first place, the lieutenant glances down in his empty glass. What does he want from Connor, really? 

Humanity, yes. Obedience, yes. Honesty, yes. More than that? Yeah.   
Everything? Undoubtedly. Hank wants all of him, all that he is –wires and chips and coding and deviancy-, all that he can offer. 

Abusing alcohol had always been about numbing his thoughts. To forget about the pressure of his job, the animosity of his ex-wife, the death of his son. Regardless, before reaching that point of going mindless, before passing out, comes the introspection and self-loathing. 

The questioning of all there is to Hank. The sentiment to what could become of Hank. 

And that’s exactly the stage he’s in right now. The melancholy, the hope and the indecisiveness between wanting to choke his demons or dance with them. 

“Hank?” 

He stirs at Connor’s voice, the intonation a whisper but the volume clear. Gazing up from his glass, Hank observes the android standing stiffly in front of him from where he’s sitting next to the kitchen-table. 

“You should not drink this much.” Connor says softly, tilts his head as if worried. 

“You say this now.” The lieutenant returns, drunk but not to a degree where his words are slurred. He thinks... 

“Can I ask you something rather... odd?” 

Drunk as he might be, Hank picks up on the hesitation in Connor’s voice. Earlier assumptions of the kid’s manipulative tactics are deafened by the thrumming in his ears. By a voice whispering in his ears to ‘touch him’, to ‘try it again, touch him again’.   
The grip on the empty tumbler tightens until his knuckles turn white. 

Connor takes his silence as an affirmative. 

“Would you touch me?” 

The man scoffs at the kid’s question. This can’t be fucking happening; he must’ve drunk more than he thought and passed out by now. It’s a dream, probably will turn into a wet one the more he agrees with Connor. 

The denial, the _excuse_ , allows Hank to amuse the android for just a tad longer. 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere.” The reply is immediate and the man is sobered up marginally when Connor steps forward, drops to his knees between his spread legs and dips his head. 

The sharp inhale from Hank is at first caused by the assumption the kid will headbutt him right in the dick. However, oxygen is held stiffly within his lungs as he stares down at the sight between his legs. 

The length of his nape is milky-white, spotted with a few freckles, shadowed with a tiny stubble leading up into a neat haircut. The collar of his shirt is pulled back as he sits bent forwards, revealing the top of his plastic or metal spine.   
It’s a delicate sight, a vulnerable part of any human’s body. Slender and soft, like an offering, beckoning Hank to either stroke him or decapitate him in some sick way to prove to him his trust. 

Hank stirs, the glass in his hand making a scratchy sound as it is ready to burst in his grip. 

“Connor.” He mumbles the android’s name, even though he doesn’t have a clue as to what to say. 

“Please.” Is the kid’s reply, his head dipping deep enough to have the top of it fit snugly between the man’s spread thighs. “Touch me, please.” 

“Fucking shit, Con...” Hank frowns down at the boy, his heart stuttering through the haze of alcohol at the submission in front of him. 

As a red light reflects between the boy’s temple and the fabric of Hank’s pants, hands crawl up the man’s calves where they grip tightly for balance or perhaps to allow the android to keep a hold on himself.   
The idea that Connor has to hold on to something to not lose himself is maddening. 

“Anywhere?” The lieutenant asks, his voice raspy with alcohol... With arousal that –had he been less intoxicated and a decade younger- would've had his length strain against the zipper of his pants by now. Would’ve pressed against the top of Connor’s head. 

“Anywhere.” Connor confirms and he sounds honest-to-god breathless; the word a mere gasp. 

“Okay... Okay, Connor.” Hank whispers, lets go of the glass and reaches down, all the while holding his breath and hoping to hell he won’t wake up in soiled underwear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Hank doesn’t wake up. It isn’t a dream.

The robot between his legs remains when he scratches his nails across his scalp. Remains when he places his hand atop the back of his neck. Remains when his fingers fold to the front, brush his throat and feel him swallow.   
Connor remains even when Hank strokes down the top of his spine, fingers disappearing underneath the collar of his shirt until they’re framed by protruding shoulder blades.

And Connor goes ahead and fucking shudders underneath his touch.

“We can’t do this.” Hank mutters, thoughtfully to himself more so than to the kid between his legs.

“It is okay, Hank.” Connor assures quietly, his voice sounding stifled as if he has a lump in his throat. Which he can’t have... Because he’s a fucking robot. Just a machine that looks like a human; a fact so often assured to Hank by none other than Connor.

“Why are you doing this?” Hank asks, tilting his head before he leans forward with an elbow on his knee, his other hand sliding farther down the android’s back, stretching the fabric of his black shirt as he strokes down his spine.

Connor arches into the touch, both of them flinching when the movement makes the top of his head bump into Hank’s groin. The gentle impact notifies Hank of his length having grown, even if only to half-mast. The fact that he can kind of get it up when drunk and ancient is a miracle in itself, the fact that it’s happening just by stroking hot synthetic skin from a boy between his legs, is as worrisome as it is impressive.

“Because we like it.” The android replies.

_ We _ . Not him, not Hank, but the both of them.

“Should we?” The detective queries as insecurities crawl up his spine, bypassing the dull of alcohol and managing to slip right into the forefront of his conscience.

He’s just a plastic thing, he’s not real, his emotions are emulated, the pleasure he is receiving is just coded into him. Anyone could be touching him right now and he’d be getting off on it.   
Is that what is having Hank second-guess himself each and every time he wants to throw the kid on his bed and ravage him?

The mere assumption of himself being replaceable? Is he that... vain, still? After years of alcohol abuse and poor self-care? No, it’s deeper than that. Rejection is what’s rooted beneath it all. Rejection and returning to that state of not belonging anywhere in the world; just roaming around and working a job mindlessly, coming home to an empty house and the framed picture of his son.

Meaninglessness.

“You participate in illegal gambling and driving under the influence of alcohol.” Connor points out uncharacteristically, rather than answer him full-on. It shows that he isn’t aware exactly of what is having the lieutenant second-guess.

Granted, Hank’s only figured it out just now as well. It isn’t that he’s disgusted by the thought of fucking a piece of plastic. It’s a lot more to do with the fear of severing the bond they’ve tied between them. It’s a lot more to do with the fear of being left on his own, his only company a revolver, a bottle of booze and Cole’s picture.

_ It’s fear of change. _

“Touch me harder, Hank.” Connor demands softly, travels his hands to the front of Hank’s legs before they brush up over his knees and come to rest atop his thighs. They squeeze, though the lieutenant can’t tell whether he does so to urge him on or to keep himself from moving.

The palm he’s resting atop the boy’s back has become clammy by nervousness and the android’s heat, but Connor doesn’t seem bothered by it. Can this tin-can even experience disgust yet? He’s probably sucking up Hank’s sweat like a sponge and analyzing it to find out what soap he used last to wash his hands with.

The thought has Hank cringe lightly before he pulls his hand out of Connor’s shirt and sits back.

Connor grows tense and a sound is cut off rapidly. Had he wanted to curse? Groan? Sigh? Shout?

The hands on the lieutenant’s thighs squeeze hard enough to have him hiss in discomfort.

“Why?” Connor asks and finally lifts his head to look up at the man.

The image in front of him isn’t at all helpful to tip the scale away from arousal. It doesn’t make it easier for Hank to get up and walk away... Not with Connor sitting between his legs, hands dangerously high on top of his thighs, chin hovering above Hank’s strained length, eyes wide and brows furrowed, lips full and pink.

Were Connor human... Would he unzip his pants? Take him out and swallow him down?

Hank’s voice strains at the thought and he chokes on his reply, rubbing a hand over his face in desperation.

“Am I not your ‘type’?” Connor asks and begins to move his fingers to massage the tense muscles in Hank’s thighs.

This is fucking _seduction_. The kid might lack the coyness in his eyes and flirtation in his voice, but the words he spoke and the movements and position of his body are downright sinful.   
His LED swirls yellow and Hank knows he’s trying to figure out how to draw him over the edge that is stopping him.

Thinking back to it, Connor’s tried a few different tactics. Aloofness, walking away, confrontation, submission, and now... the worst of all, seducing.    
Hank should’ve downed more whiskey for this, should’ve drenched his tongue in the liquor to allow it to curl around words like ‘blow me’ or ‘undress’ or ‘I’m afraid this will fuck shit up for us and I don’t wanna be a dirty old man taking advantage of a machine to the point where I’ll be left on my own once you find out this isn’t what your life should be like’.

Always selfish thoughts regardless. He’s much more worried about the outcome for himself than he is for Connor.

“ _You_ are mine.” The android adds and Hank has to rewind the conversation to figure out what he is talking about.    
He frowns once he does.

“I’m your type?” Hank growls, scoffs before the snark falls from his face as Connor’s hands travel farther up his thighs; fingertips shamelessly brushing across the crease of his pants where they fold into the crotch area.   
The lieutenant’s body, as well as his length, stiffen considerably. He can be defined as rigid from head to toe, not a single muscle left relaxed.

Connor nods once, face expressionless, though his eyes are wide and he hasn’t blinked for ages now as he keeps his gaze on Hank’s features. He must be scanning the shit out of him.

“What?  D’they program that into you, did they?”

The android’s eyebrows furrow and it somehow allows Hank to breathe some relieve.

“No, I am not supposed to have a type, to begin with.”

Considering the truthfulness to his words, Hank thinks of how to proceed. His dick is at war with his fears. Fears which can be numbed by habits.   
He reaches out to the bottle of whiskey, ignores the boy’s gaze which refuses to waver as he takes several swigs from the bottle. Downing the courage, fuel to stifle the voices and ignite impulsion.

“I assure you, Hank, that if you have any doubts about my honesty, indulging me will nevertheless have a pleasurable outcome for the both of us. If it is of any comfort, I have been touched before and found the experience rather bland.”

Hank chokes on his drink at the image of Connor having been fucked by someone.

“What? Who? Who the fuck touched you?”

His LED goes yellow as he seems to translate Hank’s words. The fingers on his thighs stop moving.

“Oh, not like that. What I am attempting to share with you, is that I have been clasped on the neck before, on the shoulder as well. I have had my elbow held and on one occasion someone has even patted me on the cheek. And in turn, I have as well touched human beings in similar manners, manners which are considered friendly at the most.” The android pauses, as if waiting for Hank’s intoxicated mind to work the words through miles of rusty gears.

“Not a single touch, or look, or experience, with anyone other than you, Hank... Has ever had this effect on me. Not even close.”

They stare at each other for what seems hours, but of course has only been a handful of seconds. Or so Hank assumes because by the time he wakes up, he’s not sure where reality ended and the dream had begun.

* * *

The hangover is horrendous and it takes Hank an entire afternoon before Connor can speak to him without resulting in his skull breaking apart.

Connor is friendly. Seemingly puts effort into his smiles and tends to Hank like a mother hen.    
For a split second it has him consider the possibility of them having fucked last night and perhaps the afterglow is similar within androids as it is within humans.

“What happened last night?” Hank mutters as he walks into the kitchen, clean clothes on his body and steam curling around his wet hair after the hot shower he took.

Though not turning around from where he is stood, stirring pots of deliciously smelling food, Connor replies effortlessly. He’s surprisingly efficient in summing up an entire evening within only a few sentences and Hank grimaces at finding out that everything he remembers had actually taken place.

All the looks, the rubbing of his thighs and the confession of Connor’s attraction to him... It had all happened until Hank had taken those last few swigs of whiskey and passed out.

“Sorry about that.” Hank mutters, still hoping to brush off his true feelings with the excuse of ‘I was drunk’. A hypocritical tactic since he tends to rub it in people’s faces that ‘truth is spoken by children and drunken men only’.

“It was quite enjoyable, Hank.” The android replies, putting a lid on one of the pots before he turns around and meets his gaze.

The lieutenant stares back, hesitates at the table, wondering how they’ll go from here.

“Perhaps not a beer today. Would you like something to drink?”

Hank recognizes the attempt at lightening the atmosphere and he’s impressed when for the rest of the evening, Connor doesn’t bother him about last night. Either the thing’s changed his mind, plotting a comeback or is going easy on him.

Hank’s hopes lie within the first and last... And perhaps a bit in the middle if following perversions and his tendency to torture himself.

* * *

Hank feels like a  lab rat .

The conviction is caused by how Connor keeps practicing every tactic in the book when it comes to evoking emotion from him.  _ Any  _ emotion, at that. Good  _ or  _ bad.

Days pass by in which Hank receives a different version of Connor each time and by the end of it he is so taken aback and so intrigued, he forgets to buy a new bottle of whiskey.

“What crawled up your ass and died this time?” Hank mutters after Connor shares with him how long it’d take for him to die  were he to develop cirrhosis of the liver. Apparently, it’s two to five years, if he’s lucky. Which Hank never  is.

Connor tilts his head, frowns lightly.

“Is that an expression?”

With a snort, Hank’s demeanor immediately softens and he throws the kid a lopsided grin, gives him a thumbs up for good measure.   
Connor returns the smile, albeit more subtle like they tend to be; curved lips only tilting up in one corner. Hank is convinced he will slip into an aneurism the very moment Connor bares his teeth in a broad smile to him... If that will ever even occur. If that’s even possible... Considering how smooth and tight the skin on his face appears to be.

When he begins pondering over what material Connor’s perfectly shaped teeth are made out of, Hank decides it’s time to call it a day.

“Alright, I’m off.” He mutters along with a groan as his muscles ache at unfolding from the seated position he’d taken in the couch.   
By the time Hank looks up, confused as to why Connor doesn’t move aside from where he’d been standing in front of him, fingertips nudge his chest.

With a grunt he falls back down on the couch, glaring up at the android who’d gently pushed him back.

“What the shit, Connor?” The lieutenant curses, assuming the kid’s malfunctioning, or perhaps even attempting to joke. However, when bracing a hand on the armrest in order to shift his weight and try to get back up to his feet, Connor, again, forces him back with a simple press of his fingers.

“This isn’t fu-”

“I have tried every tactic in my programming, lieutenant.” The android says –interrupts, and it has Hank freeze in place.

Their eyes meet and as usual, Connor’s impossible to read, even the circle imbedded in his temple sways a soft blue. He’s  calm , or perhaps has gone deviant enough to decide what color he wants to portray, regardless of what jumbled mess might be unfolding in his system.

“Distance. Friendship. Humor. Physical contact. Addressing you by your name. Eye-contact. Being nosy. Flirtation.” Connor pauses for a second, his eyes darting across Hank’s features.   
“Seduction.”

Hank can’t hold back the grimace on his face at the word. It has him remember when the kid had gotten horny from having his neck touched, how he’d dropped to his knees in front of him; seating himself between Hank’s spread legs as if offering himself to him, subduing.

“I have been running several reconstructions today, of what will occur when I do one thing, and what will happen when I do another.” The android admits, the use of language simpler than usual, giving Hank pause as it makes Connor seem fed up, of sorts.   
His intonation is clear, voice as goofy as ever, and his face remains stoic... But the way his sentences are built, the way the words string together rather than have some space left between to reconsider or feign a breath... Something about it.

When his gaze flicks towards the LED, finding it still blue, Hank notices how Connor tenses up. It’s slight; the rise in his shoulders and the flattening of his feet onto the floor. It tells the detective that the kid’s expecting some kind of confrontation, preparing to hold Hank back were he to try and escape.

This, as well, betrays how important the current conversation is for Connor. The kid isn’t going to allow Hank to get away this time.

Hank sighs, rubs a hand over his face before he leans back in the couch.

“Alright... Care to share?”

It’s a dumb fucking question, is what that is. The moment he’s said it, Hank groans under his breath. What if this android is going to serenade to him twenty-five ways in which they could fuck on the couch alone? What if he tells him he’s found out Hank has some developing liver disease during his most recent scan? Could he even spot that?   
A dozen more perverted and absurd assumptions bounce around in Hank’s head and he begrudgingly realizes he’s too sober for this.

“Well, I have observed you, analyzed you, closely ever since we met and I am positive that you are a man ruled as much by morals as by logic. The impulsive tendency to let emotions overrule your more observant and analytical approach to life has proven problematic.”

Hank has no idea what the fucker is getting at and can only stare up at the android as he continues rambling, beating around the bush like a ‘real boy’.

“However, Hank, problematic may just be the path to follow when it comes to you. And me.”

Scowling up at him he expects Connor to clarify. However, he finds him standing still, hands folded behind his back and a slight sway in his body as if shifting his weight on the balls of his feet.   
He’s expecting an answer from Hank to his question wrapped in a damn riddle.

“What?” He barks instead.

The android blinks, as if surprised that Hank hadn’t understood his robotic babbling. His head tilts to the side.

“Problematic.” He repeats. “Your relationship with alcohol, for example. I did try to use this aspect of yourself to my advantage but found that your loss of consciousness put a rather abrupt halt to my intentions.”

Hank frowns, figuring out slowly that Connor had intentionally let him drink the abundance of whiskey that one evening, sitting between his legs on the floor. But he’d miscalculated Hank’s tolerance, had had him pass out before he could do... Do what exactly?

“Your intentions-” The lieutenant tries before the android interrupts him abruptly, not something he’s done often before, unless it was for the sake of Hank’s safety.

“Another rather problematic feat to yourself, lieutenant, is your poor anger management.”

“My fuckin’ what now?” The detective cocks an eyebrow, bristles, tilts his head not unlike Connor did.

“Your handling of anger.” He repeats, as if talking to an absolute idiot. Which he damn sure is.

“When agitated to a certain degree, you tend to flee. Which, may I point out, is another one of your rather problematic personality traits.” A smile touches his lips and Hank swears this prick is far more human than he thought mere seconds ago. He’s riling him up. Intentionally, at that.

“I have been wondering, reconstructing, what will happen if you are angered in a sober state and left no escape route.”

A wry smirk pulls at Hank’s lips. He doesn’t intend to, but the tease at a challenge has always excited him in the past. He forces down the sentiment, however. Though eager to prove others wrong, he’s aware that his short fuse is indeed rather unpredictable, and once ignited; difficult to bring down to a simmer.   
The last thing he wants right now is to lose his cool around the android and ruin what is going on between them. This... comradery, this mutual respect and this endless dancing around the obvious.

The illusion shouldn’t be shaken. Especially not by Hank.

“You’re going to anger me to get what you want?”

Connor nods stiffly.

“And what exactly is it that you want, again?”

“To be touched by you, lieutenant.”

They stare at each other for a while in which Connor’s expression is shamelessly deadpan and Hank’s goes through so many it must appear like he’s having a stroke.

“Connor, the last thing I’ll want to do when angry, is touch you. You’re fucking bad at those calculations of yours.”

“My mathematics are in rather fine order, if I do say so myself. I have run many reconstructions on what outcomes to expect and how to interact with each independently were they to occur.”

“You’re not  gonna piss me off, Con.” Hank says, agitated already and hence belying his own damn words.

“I believe I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

“No, you-” Hank pauses, belatedly realizing Connor’s already started some program on childish behavior to piss him off.

Granted, the android doesn’t show any signs of amusement on his face, his LED flickering to yellow every so often as he observes Hank.   
The mere fact that this idiot will risk facing the storm that is an angry Hank, just to be ‘touched’ by him is absurd. It might be a logical approach in his deviancy-infected programming, but it sure as hell would be a stupid tactic were he to have conjured it up as a human being.

Yet, would it, though? Hasn’t Hank angered people on purpose, just to get their emotions flare up, their inhibitions drop, and draw out their true nature? Hasn’t he improvised during interrogations and even personal relationships by following his gut and poking the bear?   
And even if it is just called that: ‘following one’s gut’, isn’t it still a calculation by instinct? A leftover part within human beings that is often times more accurate than logic and thought.

Is Connor, underneath the lines of code and those ‘reconstructions’ he keeps mentioning, not doing exactly that? Improvising. Following _his gut_. Trying and failing repeatedly and eventually coming to the conclusion that perhaps this new tactic will have a successful outcome.   
Connor’s failed. He’s flawed. Is starting to figure out the intricate patterns within a human being’s behavior.

And mimicking them. Or, adopting them. Overwriting his own logic with the irregular patterns Hank’s displayed to him.   
All in all, it’s remarkable Connor isn’t more of an asshole after living with Hank for this long. He’s a cocky android, but had been from the start.

Maybe, Connor had been deviating from the get-go. He’d had a lot more personality to him than other non-deviated androids Hank had come across, that’s for sure.

Prototype bastard.

“Hank?”

Shaken from his thoughts, the detective glares up at the kid still in front of him.

“I do not take pleasure in angering you. Rather, I experience a craving for attention which, I admit, is a rather selfish notion and approach.”

It’s an oddly timed confession and Hank wonders if the kid is starting to second-guess his own logic. He appears confused, apprehensive, as if wanting to walk away from whatever plan he’s ‘constructed’ these past days.

Yet, as is often the case with reading into the android, Hank’s assumptions are inaccurate.

“For this, I apologize in advance.” He shifts his weight. “Regardless of such, sacrifices can be of necessity when chasing goals. And my goal, Hank, is for you to lose a grand amount of control through the means of anger, in order to have you grant me what I so selfishly desire from you.”

The lieutenant’s stomach coils when Connor moves closer before placing one knee next to Hank’s thigh on the couch. Hands come to rest atop his shoulders next and before he’s sputtered a word to put a halt to what is happening, Connor is seated in his lap.

His breathing hitches and the world around him stops.

“And it’s an axiom, that I am willing to sacrifice an abundance in order to accomplish this goal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for yet another cliffhanger, it wasn't my intention but I have a word limit to my chapters :/  
> We are going to pick up the pace soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudo's and comments! I appreciate all of them (but at times am too awkward at replying)

The weight on his legs is heavy, but achingly pleasant.

Regardless of Connor having admitted that his goal lies in angering Hank to have him lose enough control so he will end up touching him, he’s doing a bad job at accomplishing it.

Rather than angered, Hank feels far more taken aback, if not overwhelmed, by the android’s oddly intimate and forward approach.

There’s not much of an escape left. Most of the aspects Hank had made himself believe were wishful thinking on his perverted behalf, have been confirmed as truthful. Connor _is_ interested. Connor _wants_ to be touched, _by_ Hank, and no one else. Hank _does_ excite Connor, in ways that are sexual, certainly.   
Though Connor hasn’t said it outright, though he didn’t claim it as shamelessly as Hank’s mind has, it is obvious. Even if unspoken... The mystery has faded and all there is left to do is for the lieutenant to either shove the kid off his lap and kick him out, dig himself deeper into bullshit by remaining in denial, or submit to it.

The first option doesn’t sit right. Considering all of his own issues he has with his attraction towards the android, Hank still is dearly fond of the kid and would be shattered if he’d end up losing him. The second choice; remaining in denial, as well won’t be an option for that much longer. The last, however, the thought of just going with it... Frightens Hank.

“Touch me, Hank.” Connor interrupts his panicked thoughts and their eyes meet.

He can’t keep denying him, can he? The kid’s a damn bloodhound, goes after what he wants tirelessly. Hank’s seen him chase deviants, has had him disobey his orders in favor of hunting down prey, has even witnessed him taking down humans and androids, be it with a well-aimed shot or with his own two hands.

“How far do you  wanna take this?” The older man asks, his voice hoarse, which is a given when having someone as attractive and willing as Connor in his lap. A heavy and hot weight, solid and yet giving, relaxing on his thighs and leaning into him when replying.

“Until we find clarity.” Connor says quietly, not letting go of Hank’s gaze, unblinking.

“Clarity on what?”

“On us.”

Before Hank can translate Connor’s reply from its vagueness to something more solid and decisive, the kid moves in.

“Don’t!” The man raises his voice, unceremoniously plastering a hand against Connor’s face to stop him from whatever he was planning to do. The mere thought of the android kissing him has him flush in embarrassment.

However, as crude as the reaction had been, Connor pays it no mind. 

Hank watches, breathless, as the android in his lap nuzzles the palm of his hand with eyes closed. It takes him ridiculously long before figuring out that the kid’s enjoying it a little too much, yet when attempting to retrieve his hand, Connor grabs on to his wrist.

“Keep touching me, Hank.”

“Connor, we shouldn’t...” His voice wavers, and he wonders when his subconscious had gone from ‘we can’t’ to ‘we shouldn’t’. His dick is likely the accomplice. Betraying Hank even at his ripe age.

The lieutenant almost loses himself in it. This sight in front of him. This android rocking lightly, back and forth, in his lap, while rubbing his cheek and jaw and nose into his calloused palm.   
If he would see this in a porn flick, he’d end up laughing at it, before likely ending up jacking off anyways.

But this isn’t a laughing matter. Mostly so, because this isn’t acting. This isn’t feigned. Not even an android should be able to fake sexual pleasure this well. Not even a prototype like Connor.

As Hank grows light-headed, his blood waving adios to his already fuzzy brain before packing its bags and migrating south, Connor moans quietly.

“Hank.” He whispers, his lips moving against  Hank’s wrist before his mouth travels back up to his palm. He laps at his skin, flattening his tongue. The sensation so hot, and so absurdly and unexpectedly wet, that it has the man jolt from his horny haze. 

Not unlike the event that took place in the kitchen, during their argument where Hank had lost his cool and shoved Connor to the floor after suggesting he’s a replacement for his son, the lieutenant pushes the android off his lap hard-handedly.

As if having expected it, Connor makes sure to tilt his body sideways, having him end up falling onto the couch’s empty cushions rather than the floor.

They stare at each other, both panting, both trying to figure out what to do, what to say.

Though he opens his mouth repeatedly, Hank finds his voice stuck in his throat, uncertain about what he could possibly word that would take away the awkward and tense atmosphere crackling between them.

Connor licks his lips, and whatever leftover analysis he tastes of Hank, causes him to experience a visible full-body shutter. His LED flashes yellow.

The mere witnessing of this android getting turned on by just tasting sweat and skin particles, has Hank’s mind helpfully whisper ‘ _ imagine him sucking your dick’ _ to him. And then ‘ _ he’ll probably come without you having to touch him at all _ ’, as if this is a valid excuse to proceed whatever the fuck weird android  foreplay they’re having.

“Fine.” Connor says, his voice oddly steady.

For a split second, a blissful split second, Hank believes Connor is throwing in the towel.    
He goes as far as to shift in his seat, ignoring the toes pressed against the outside of his thigh as Connor remains sprawled on the couch where he’d been pushed. Hell, the lieutenant even considers staying seated for a moment longer, if only to prove to this idiot that he’s in charge here and is done running away, like he’d been accused of doing.   
Naturally, the stubborn man that he is, Hank won’t run when someone tells him he will.

This plastic prick may think he’s one-upped him, but he’s yet to learn the intricacies of human nature. Of stubbornness. 

That is until Connor leans back against the armrest, spreads his legs and starts undoing his own pants to reach inside.

“Connor! What the fuck! Jesus Christ don’t fucking do that, that’s fucking inappropriate, you absolute lunatic!” Hank shouts and accuses as he jumps up from the couch and puts distance between himself and the android staring up at him with a hand down his pants.

“If you will not touch me, Hank, then I will.” He states matter-of-factly before kneading whatever he has between his legs.    
The motion is distracting and it has the lieutenant frozen on the spot until a breathy moan from Connor shakes him out of it.

“If you think I’m  gonna sit here and watch you squeeze one out,  ya got it all wrong, kid.” Hank’s voice provides, though something in the back of his mind scoffs, mocks him for yet having to step away from the scene.

“Go then.” 

It’s a dare. One that absolutely corners Hank, for his stubbornness bristles at being told what to do.

“I am uncertain of whether or not I will be able to gain optimal levels of arousal in order to reach sexual gratification without you watching me, lieutenant, but I promise I will give it the best I have got while you retreat.”

How this dumbass can talk like a text-to-speech translator and still have Hank grow harder in his pants, is a mystery in itself.

“This could classify as sexual indecency, you know?” Hank murmurs, not able to tear his eyes away from whatever is going on inside Connor’s pants. He’s still rubbing  _ something _ , hand moving up and down underneath the constricting fabric of his pants.

“Could?” Connor parrots, scoots down until he’s taking up the entire couch, legs spread, head thrown back over the armrest. “What is making your definition waver?”

The length of Connor’s throat has Hank’s fingers itch in their desire to wrap around the synthetic skin, squeeze whatever plates and wires and plastic is underneath it. It looks supple, incredibly realistic, and has him remember when he’s brushed the kid’s Adam’s apple when he’d been sitting between his legs in the kitchen. How he had felt him swallow, a muscle inside bopping along with the act.

“Is it the rather simple fact that you want to touch me as much as I want you to?” The android asks, eyes closed and his body arching as he gasps when apparently stroking a rather sensitive part of himself.

The chance that he is bluffing is there, but is it a bluff if it’s fucking true, though?

“Is it a fear, a stubborn mindset? Or is it something deeper than that, Hank? Am I reading you all wrong? Is your erection caused merely by outrage at my display of ‘sexual indecency’, such as you put it? Does it upset you that I am pulling your strings more than you are mine?”

Hank scowls, glancing up from the android’s crotch and instead meeting his half-lid gaze. His LED is a frustratingly calm blue, swirling faster than normal, but betraying nothing else.

“You never did strike me as a coward, Hank. Not on the field, not in interrogations, not around our boss. However, ...” The words cascade from his full lips teasingly, Hank is certain he isn’t imagining the smirk hidden somewhere on his features. “-when it comes to your emotions. When it comes to  _ me _ , you very much are.”

It’s an insult. What he says is truthful, however, it is not a truth allowed to be spoken or claimed by anyone other than Hank himself.   
There are reasons behind why he is who he is. He’s been built like this, shaped by events, by loss and by childhood. He’s human, only human, and the border between self-pity and self-love is a thin one he’s been balancing on for his entire life.

He despises being accused of what he knows he is. The hypocrite.   
He despises closing his eyes to the truth just because it hurts him. The coward.   
He loves acting like he is -in fact- emotionally growing. That he is in fact, in some way or form, without any damn input or effort, becoming a better man. The denial.

Hank has his own analysis of himself. He knows, from head to toe, from organs to trauma, who he is. And he’ll be damned before allowing a piece of plastic to shake what he believes and have the illusion crumble around him.

“Admit it.” Connor says, and Hank notices the lack of a smile on his features, the sharpness to his eyes and the yellow light in his temple.

“Go on, admit it, lieutenant Anderson.” Along with his words, Connor lifts a leg, presses bare toes against Hank’s hip in a teasing shove.

Something instinctive comes to the surface, and before he can stop himself, Hank grabs Connor’s ankle and tugs him roughly towards him.

Connor gasps, head slipping off the armrest, hand removing itself from his pants in order to hold on to the backrest of the couch, while his other splays onto the floor.

The rough act has both of them pause, staring at each other. Connor splayed out on the couch, holding his breath. Hank, still clasping the kid’s narrow ankle, towering over him.

After a moment, Connor tugs his foot gently and another gasp escapes his parted lips when Hank tightens his grip, holds him in place.

“Let go.” The android says quietly and the words contrast with the manner in which he arches slightly, as if wanting to draw Hank’s eyes to his long, lean body. He tries to free his foot once again, and –once again- the grip around it tightens.

“You never did like being told what to do.” Connor muses. “Perhaps I should have practiced reverse psychology on you.”

Hank ignores the words, doesn’t care if the kid’s attempting to joke around. He’s far too agitated about his cocky attitude, about how it still feels like the android’s in control of them both, about how this tin-can still  believes he has Hank all figured the fuck out.

“Stop analyzing me.” The lieutenant growls, squeezes the ankle harder and feeling something shift lightly underneath his grip. Connor twitches, but doesn’t seem in pain, even though his eyes glance at his own foot for a split second before meeting Hank’s gaze.

“Are you worried about what I will find? Or have already?”

“You’re not a mind reader, kid. You may be aware of my cholesterol levels, but you don’t know jack shit about what goes on in my head.”

“I never claimed I did.”

“Yes, you fucking did. You do it, all the time.” Hank raises his voice, annoyed that the android is denying what he so obviously admitted to doing just moments earlier. He had told Hank he’s been observing him, he’s been figuring out where his weaknesses lie so he can use them to his own horny advantages.

“Stop lying to me, you damn deviant.” The lieutenant accuses, tugging Connor farther down the couch in the hopes that it’ll intimidate him into silence.   
Yet, he can only watch, annoyed and intrigued, as Connor slowly brings his hands up, laying them on the couch, above his head, having his body stretch taut even more than before. Dark and unblinking eyes never leave Hank’s face and he knows the kid is still reading him at this very moment, trying to predict outcomes and calculating how to react to each one. 

He hates it.

He hates how everything to this idiot is a fucking math problem, eager to be solved. 

Regardless, he hadn’t expected Connor to assume solving this particular problem could be achieved by gently moving the foot Hank’s holding to the left and then forwards.   
Hank let’s go of the kid’s ankle with a hiss when toes press against the strain in his pants.

“Connor!” He shouts at him, affronted, as if reprimanding a dog, while taking two steps backwards. 

“What are you going to do, Hank?” Connor says before closing his eyes, lowering his foot onto the couch and letting his legs fall open once again.

The boy resumes his previous task; hand shoved into his pants as he pleasures himself at a leisure pace.

“Are you going to take what is offered to you?” As if emphasizing what exactly is being offered, Connor whines as he squeezes himself, hips lifting off the couch slightly before they fall back down and he starts to rock into his hand.

“Or are you just going to stand there and watch me, because you are too afraid to make a decision?”

Hank’s ears are ringing, the skin on his body prickling as it seems void of blood to warm it up. Every nerve bared, muscles taut, heat pooled between his legs.   
He’s never quite experienced this particular cocktail of arousal and anger. A mixture which tries to convince him that the best way to get back at Connor is to fuck the life out of him. Which is absurd, because that’s exactly what the android wants. It wouldn’t be punishment.

Standing there, frozen, incapable of making a decision –exactly like Connor accused him of doing- Hank tries to regain some bearing. And when he does, after reminding himself how all this had escalated, it feels like he finally wakes up. Finally realizes what he is seeing and what is happening.

Connor, uptight, prissy, cool and collected Connor... Connor, respectful of Hank, calm-voiced and patient, understanding and helpful Connor... On Hank’s couch, jerking himself off at a leisure pace, panting and gasping, writhing and rocking his body to a rhythm controlled by sheer lazy arousal.   
The android’s cowlick bounces lightly with every movement, falls across his temple when he moves his head to one side, over his eyebrow when he moves to the other. Synthetic muscles constrict underneath the skin of his throat, moving along with the sounds he makes, the breaths he takes and swallows. Even his nostrils flare, lips quivering at they’re parted, baring the edges of his perfect teeth.

Hank loses himself in the sight. In the... authenticity, in how real this android looks while experiencing pleasure.

Back in the day, Hank’s fucked plenty of people. Women and men, though none of them as attractive as Connor. And none of them this far gone over masturbating while he is watching. And it should feel fake, it should fuel that rage simmering in the pit of his stomach, that keeps reminding Hank of how Connor isn’t human. Connor will never be human and yet it is a desire –an excuse- Hank keeps holding on to.

For what?

For his own peace of mind? Because he believes a human could love him more than an android? Because he thinks an actual person would be more truthful to him, more loyal and genuine than a robot?

Except for the little lies, the bluffing and the selfish reasoning to Connor, had anyone ever been as intrigued by Hank like he is?   
It’s an incorrect approach to relationships; this one-sided desire to be admired, to be loved and worshipped to some degree. Hank is aware.   
But for all the man’s excuses and denial, he can admit to himself that it’s refreshing to have someone interested in him.

Interested, is putting it lightly... Considering Connor’s starting to pant and moan as if nearing the edge. Because of his own hand, yeah... But Hank likes to believe his presence only fuels the boy’s fire to get off.

In the quiet of his living room, the clock ticking past midnight, lights shifting and flickering around the dark space by the muted television, Hank returns to his body.

This is real. It is palpable. It is genuine. He can hear Connor, can see him, can smell the faint scent of his own soap of which he knows radiates off himself as well as the android.

As if needing to take the realism of it all, step by step, Hank’s mind is finally capable of admitting to itself its requirement of touching Connor. Make this experience solid, have it rooted in this very moment, until a second passes and leaves it in the past. And then touch him again. Make it real again. Touch him until all he sees is Connor. Connor with his brown eyes and brown hair and pale skin. Connor with long lashes he still hasn’t been able to count, and freckles which dust his skin. Connor with his goofy voice and straight teeth, curvy full lips and small tongue.

Touch him. Until all Connor sees is Hank. Until his own hand will no longer suffice to bring him pleasure. Touch him until Hank is all he will ever need, for pleasure and for pain. Until he can’t live without him, until he will grieve when Hank dies of old age. Someone has to... Someone has to care about Hank.

Selfish.

Cowardly, hypocritical and in denial. But selfish, evermore.

“Stop.” Hank says, his throat  dry enough to have the word come out as a single rasp, a clatter of sounds. Yet, Connor understands him effortlessly and immediately obeys.

Because that’s what he wanted from the start, no?

To be told what to do, twenty-four seven, such as he phrased it. And perhaps that notion is a lot more selfish than Hank had believed at first. It’s not taking advantage of this kid’s interest in him... It’s utilizing what makes both of them tick.

Both taking, yet, ironically enough it grants each other what is desired.

Had Connor planned this from the start? He’d confessed wanting to piss Hank off in order to make him lose control. Had that been another bluff? A lie to get from Hank what he wanted? Or did he recalculate his tactic mid-attempt?

Whichever it is... Hank exhales slowly, wills his heart to slow down. Regardless, with the boy looking up at him, hand in his pants yet having ceased all motion,  it proves a futile attempt.

“You want this?” The lieutenant murmurs, stomach fluttering as his body catches up to his mind’s decision.

Connor nods.

“Yes, lieutenant.” The android’s voice is thick. His eyes, once again wide and aware, as if frightened Hank will back off.

Which he won’t. Not this time. Not after weeks and months of dancing around each other. Not after nearly relapsing into alcoholism, not after catching a glimpse of the android’s adoration. Not after Hank’s fifty-something birthday. He’s got twenty years left if he’s lucky and it’s even less for his dick and already unhealthy body.

Connor, of sorts, feels like redemption. It’s a salvation, a last offering granted to him as he stands at the door leading to the last couple of decades in his life. Everything’s ‘now or never’ at his age.   
Besides, he can’t deny the pleasantness of these passing months. Life had improved along with his mental health. Significantly so. And it’s not just quitting the force.

It’s all Connor.

“All I ask of you, Connor, is to let me lead.” Hank says quietly, his voice shaking as much as his hands.

With his furrowed brows and relaxed lips, the lack of breathing and wide almond eyes, Connor looks more human than he ever had. And for the first time in a while, the lieutenant even feels like he’s not being scanned by this RoboCop. It could be wishful thinking, but hell... So be it.

“Yes, of course.”

“And for you to tell me if you want to stop.” Their eyes meet. “At  _ any  _ time, no matter what is happening, no matter what you think I am feeling. Just say ‘stop’, and I will. I promise.”

The android tilts his head slightly, as if considering why in earth’s name he’d have to put a halt to what he so much wants. Yet, despite Connor not being of the flaky kind, it’s better to play safe... Even if only for Hank’s own peace of mind, knowing he can lose himself in this beautiful thing without boundaries, up until the both of them come, or until Connor says ‘stop’.

“Got it.” Connor assures after a moment and it calms Hank down slightly to know he at least had thought about it before agreeing.

“Alright...” Hank murmurs, glances at the hallway leading to the bedroom before peering at Connor from the corner of his eye.

“Go to my bedroom, undress and lie down on the bed.” The man feels a tad awkward commanding him something as such, and for a split second he expects Connor to jolt up and refuse, tell him he was joking this entire time to see how much of a dirty old man Hank truly was.

However, rather than such, the android jumps up from the couch and immediately follows orders. Unbuttoning his shirt hastily as he walks down the hallway and disappears into Hank’s bedroom before shedding the fabric.

Hank remains in the living room for plenty more minutes, his mind and his body at war. He expects Connor to call him over, or to walk out of his bedroom and tell him he changed his mind. But the house is quiet, dark, nothing and no one to disturb them once they start.

Glancing at Sumo who’d been half asleep and very unimpressed by Connor’s moaning throughout the past twenty-something minutes, Hank tugs at the collar of his shirt, already building up a sweat.

“Well, shit, Sumo.” He grumbles before rounding the couch and making way to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a lot longer... no more cliffhangers (for which I profusely apologize, the scenes I write just go on forever in this fic and I hadn't predicted this, sorry)


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Hank is in the hallway, he turns to his right and instead enters the bathroom.

He’s aware there’s a naked android laying on his bed, aroused and willing and waiting for him to ravage him. He didn’t take a peek, yet is confident Connor’s desire for regulation and following rules (deviancy be damned) has him obey Hank’s commands to the T.

Regardless, cold feet accompany the man whenever he walks a path that will bring him along deeper emotions and hence he options to take a cold shower.    
His plan isn’t to clean himself up and then enter his bedroom and fuck Connor into next week. The lieutenant’s plan, in actuality, is to freeze away his flustered state and return to the night with a clearer head.

Yeah, that was the plan. Until Hank stumbles out of the shower and looks down at himself. The cold temperature certainly had eased down the hardness, however, it is still swollen, hangs heavy between his thighs.

“Good fucking timing.” He curses.

Pressing a hand onto it, trying to will it down, only serves in having it twitch enthusiastically.  _ Traitor _ .

Hank huffs, looks back up at his reflection as he brushes his wet hair from his face. Strands flop back down the moment he removes his hands.

Is he doing this? Is he taking this risk to lose everything? Does he even have much of a choice by now? Not only have they come this far already, Hank’s is certain Connor is not going to give up on this. Until he gets it... Decides it wasn’t all that. Fucks right off.   
Wrinkles crease between his brows as he frowns.

Or is he just making shit up? Because he’s piss-scared. Like how his demeanor settles into something gloomier after consuming too much alcohol, how his chest aches every time he glances at Cole’s picture when sober. Emotions ruin a lot of shit. Emotions cast a veil on one’s sight, on one’s opinions.

Were he to look at this entire scenario from a clear point of view, from one that is not wrapped up in his own mind, would he have been fucking him by now? Very likely. 

Hank inhales deeply, considers Connor’s kindness and eagerness, finds that he  can not see the android ever turning his back on him. Many people had, but Connor isn’t human... And sure, it might fucking suck that Hank doesn’t know how legitimate all the kid’s emotions are, but at least some coding in his program will serve lifelong loyalty to Hank.

Aware of his own contradicting  thoughts , of the hot and cold emotions he keeps experiencing as if stuck in a loop, Hank briskly wraps a towel around his hips and exits the bathroom.

Halting in the hallway, he glances to his left, considers finding some alcohol. Then, proceeds telling himself that perhaps Connor’s given up by now. Surely, he must have cooled down, he’s been in  Hank’s room for nearly half an hour now.

Unless he’d continued masturbating... The grimace Hank pulls at considering the kid’s already done the job for himself and is now staring up at the ceiling, satiated and done for the night, speaks louder than words.

He wants this. Him. He wants Connor.

Entering the bedroom, Hank gazes at his bed in the dark, finds the outline of a body on top of it. Connor is still there, waiting, so patiently... The circle in his temple painting blue shades across the curves of his shoulder and pillow.

“Turn on the bedside lamp.” Hank murmurs and the android obeys, reaches to switch it on before lying back down.

The room is illuminated with an orange glow, albeit marginally so; corners left pitch-black as the lamp seemingly has less power than Connor’s LED.

“You came.” Connor points out and his soft smile is the only thing that allows Hank to shove the  inappropriate joke at his choice of words out of his head.

“You stayed.” Hank mutters back, too nervous to move.

“Of course. You told me to lie on your bed.”

“That simple, huh?” The man grunts, wonders how easy or ruthless life would be if people obeyed as closely as androids did. “I tell you to do something and, if you decide it is beneficial, you obey without question.”

Connor smiles softly, something apologetic to it.

“Even when disobeying, Hank, it is because I believe something to it will be to your advantage.”

“ Coulda fooled me.”

“Everything I do and do not do, is with you in consideration.”

“Alright, shut it.” Hank grumbles, glancing down at his feet, embarrassed and instinctively suspicious of his words.

The android seems almost pleased to be told to shut up. He adjusts his body slightly, hands folded atop his stomach as he stares back up at the ceiling, understanding the conversation is over.

The man’s exhale is loud and slow, necessary to calm himself, to prevent himself from going to town immediately.   
Letting his eyes roam over his naked body, he isn’t surprised to see a muscular chest and abdomen. He isn’t exactly ‘ripped’, but lean and a tad wiry in his arms, like a swimmer or gymnast. Hank’s caught glimpses of Connor’s upper body before, though never in scenarios as positive and harmless as this one.   
It’d always been because of injury, because of an attack, because of the forceful removal of his thirium regulator by some deviant prick. Hank’s never before gotten the opportunity to truly appreciate the lines and curves to his body.

Allowing his eyes to roam lower still, his breathing halts. It’s not that jarring to see an erect cock. It _is_ to see it between Connor’s legs, to come to terms with the fact that he is seeing Connor’s length, hard and dark, curved and entirely average in size.   
Hank’s seen some ugly dicks in his life, be it between legs or on a set of shoulders and listening to the name Gavin.

This one, however, is beautiful and that’s saying a lot when considering Hank would deck anyone describing any genitalia as ‘beautiful’ in the nose.

Despite Hank’s gaze lingering on his erection, Connor doesn’t squirm. His LED remains blue and he seems to enjoy the attention as the only movement he makes is to adjust his weight to get more comfortable.

Connor’s legs are entirely hairless, like most of him, and it has Hank almost chuckle at how much he’s been designed to represent the perfect twink. This couldn’t be on accident. Why would they put effort into giving him freckles, stubble and a light dusting of arm hair, only to skip pubes and anything more below the waistline?

Or maybe he’s too far away to tell. Could be turning batshit blind at the mere sight of this beautiful idiot.

When Hank walks farther inside, Connor lets his head lol, meets his gaze.

“Close your eyes.” The lieutenant murmurs softly, convinced it’ll excite Connor to be able to follow orders. Though he’s demanding it for the sake of not being scanned and have the tin-can warn him about an upcoming heart-attack once he starts touching him. Because that risk is ever present... His heart’s already pounding like crazy the closer he walks to the bed.

“Yes, lieutenant.”

Hank almost reprimands him for calling him by his title, before he decides against it. It has a nice ring to it, after all. Like he’s in charge, like’s he’s higher up in hierarchy... An absurd notion but not a lot is ‘normal’ when it comes to perversions such as whatever they’re indulging on right now.

Standing next to Connor, gazing down at him, Hank has to pay mind to his exhale. A groan is stuck in his throat, eager to escape, and he swallows it down.   
The android’s eyes are closed, though Hank’s proximity has the LED occasionally blink into yellow before it picks back up its cool blue sway.

“You’re very beautiful, Con.” The lieutenant whispers more to himself than to the boy on his bed. His eyes travel down the hands atop his stomach, to his sharp hipbones, pass over the painfully-hard looking erection, down muscular thighs, knobby knees and slim lower-legs.

Hairless, Hank finds out when brushing a finger over Connor’s left shin. The android flinches, gasps softly.

“Thank you.” 

He isn’t sure if the android is thanking him for the compliment or for touching him.

“D’they forget to give you hair below the waist?” Hank asks as he travels a finger up the side of Connor’s calf. His stomach flutters when the android draws up his leg slightly, bending it at the knee and having it fall open to allow him more synthetic skin to touch.

“I was designed with a uniform in mind. The most skin to show being that of my arms.”

Hank hums thoughtfully, noticing the lack of moles on his body, even though they return rather often on the back of his neck and arms. Regardless, Connor’s skin still appears incredibly realistic, stretching over plastic muscles, every single inch dusted with tiny pores. They’d just cut back on the birthmarks and hair.

Yet, not on nipples or genitalia.

“And yet, they added this.” Hank mutters as he removes his finger from  Connor’s calf in favor of lightly nudging his erection.

The android flinches dramatically, exhales a shocked ‘ah’ before settling back down. 

Hank finds himself fascinated by how the touch made his cock bounce... They cut back on a few damn moles, but have his dick jump at being touched... Fucking bunch of perverts.

Glancing up at his face shows that the android still has his eyes closed  obediently. His lips are pressed together and in the silence of the room, Hank can hear him inhale shakily through his nose.

“Have you ever touched yourself, before today?” The question is bold enough to cause Connor’s LED to flicker yellow momentarily.

Waiting for an answer, Hank sits down on the edge of the bed, drawing up one leg so he can watch the kid.    
The android arches lightly, shifts to not so subtly have his hip press against Hank’s thigh.

“I have.” Connor admits, the fingers on his stomach twitching as if lying.

Considering his reply, the lieutenant wonders why Connor is this on edge, sexually, if he is aware of how to bring himself to climax. Unless...

“Did you come?”

Yellow mingles with the orange lighting in the room. Connor hesitates, but Hank is convinced he will receive an answer. There is no cockiness left to the android in this moment. He’s vulnerable and eager and Hank knows he could have him do practically anything he wants.

“No.” He replies with a tinny voice, as if it’s the wrong thing to say. Hank presses down on his own erection, tenting the towel he’s wrapped around him. Connor moans softly in return, likely having translated Hank’s movements by sound alone.

“Never?”

“Never, Hank.”

Had this poor bastard been trying to jerk off for months to no avail? That would definitely explain why he’d been so obnoxiously pushy.

“Why?” Is the lieutenant’s next question and as he awaits a reply, he unfolds the fingers clasped together on Connor’s stomach.   
Connor lets him. Lets him part his hands, pushing them gently off his body until he understands what is wanted and lays his arms onto the mattress. The android’s left-hand bumps against Hank’s knee and with a jolt he tries to pull away, as if frightened to have touched him without permission. But Hank grabs it, places it right back onto his knee and Connor digs his short nails into the skin gently.

“Because you are not present whenever I act on it.”

Hank exhales loudly at that reply. Slow and long, hoping it will calm him down as an anxious sensation simmers at the base of his stomach. There’s a question pushing behind his teeth, trying to squeeze out along with the air, travel right into Connor’s ears and have him obey every letter pronounced.

But if he does... there’s no turning back now, tonight, tomorrow. Not ever. If he takes this step, and if Connor follows along with it, their mere partnership will tumble into something far rawer, far more intense than either one of them has ever experienced before.   
And if that new status implodes on them, because of Hank –or even because of Connor-, _one_ of them will be left in ruins alongside a trusty revolver, a cheap bottle and an achingly familiar picture.

“Connor...-”

But if he doesn’t...

“-Look at me.”

...Then, will he ever be able to look into those almond eyes and forget about tonight? Forget about this offering splayed across his sheets? Forget about the breathlessness of him on his couch, pleasuring himself, cowlick dancing across his forehead with every thrust? Forget about every inch of him he’s seen tonight, milky-white skin, long and lean muscles made of god knows what... Is Hank willing, or even capable, of forcing this image back out of his mind to maintain a platonic friendship?

Fuckin’ doubtful, that.

Connor stares up at him and though he doesn’t need to breathe, Hank can tell he’s holding his breath.

Licking his lips, he swallows down the flutter in his throat before scraping it. He takes the leap.

“Touch yourself.” The lieutenant grumbles under his breath, afraid that if he says it any louder, it’ll result in breaking the spell he’s cast on himself.

The circle on Connor’s temple immediately swirls into yellow and remains that color until he nods, replies with a ‘got it’, though his voice is so light Hank has to read his lips to be certain.

Moving his right hand, Connor looks down at his own erection.

“No.” Hank quietly reprimands, causing the android to pause abruptly in his movements as he meets his stare.

“Keep looking at me while you do it.”

Connor continues to consider Hank’s words before he nods stiffly, swallows the spit that he certainly has (such as Hank had witnessed when the android had licked his hand) and reaches down.

Though not glancing away from the boy’s wide eyes, Hank can tell by the movements of his shoulder, and by the rhythmic rustling of sheets beneath them, that Connor is doing exactly what he’s been told to do.

This is it. No turning back. Hank’s stepped over the edge and it’s all in from here on out, unless the android puts a stop to it.   
Which isn’t likely, judging by how he’s growing breathy within seconds.

“Feels good?” Hank asks as they keep their gazes interlocked. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s rolled his eyes plenty of times at that line when watching pornography, when having had partners saying this to him. But it’s drowned out immediately by Connor’s whined ‘yes’.

Swallowing the urge to curse at witnessing this machine coming undone by his own touch, Hank instead reaches out. Curiosity urges him to brush a knuckle underneath Connor’s chin and something deep inside of him hums when it has the android tilt back his head.   
Regardless of Hank letting his eyes roam the length of his throat as it cranes for him, Connor is still obeying; still watching Hank’s face while moving his hand up and down his length.

Hank’s ears ring momentarily, reality sinking deeper and deeper into the forefront of his mind. It settles there, for a bit, before it all washes down south, his cock straining against the towel.

“Don’t come, but keep touching yourself, okay?” Hank whispers, swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth at having broken the safety net that was their partnership. He might be fucking it all up in this moment. After tonight, their dynamic will shift, change. And it might be for the worst.

“I am not positive I can follow that particular order, Hank. I _will_ reach climax.” Connor admits warily, chin nudging gently against the lieutenant’s knuckles pressed underneath it.   
The man almost laughs, a nervous chuckle building up in his throat, urging him to face how absurd the situation is.   
He forces it down, along with the rest of the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.

“How close are you?”

“What kind of calculation would you like?”

Hank rolls his eyes at Connor’s craving for specificity.

“If we continue this exact situation, how long will it take?”

“Twenty-seven seconds.”

Prodding the top row of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, Hank considers Connor’s calculation. The knuckles against the android’s chin lower to the bump of his Adam’s apple. He brushes it, feels it bop around a gulp.

“What if you don’t, anyways? It’s happened before.”

With eyes still gazing at Hank, Connor shudders, masturbates at the same pace he started with, but the rest of his body begins to sing along with the stimulation. His back curls slightly, his hips twitch as they surely attempt to not pump into his fist.   
Though still not having glanced down at Connor’s hand wrapped around his cock, the sounds of the kid’s pants and the little ‘clicks’ hinting at foreskin being repeatedly pulled up and down the head, are enough to have Hank grow even harder.

“Previous calculations have never been this steady before. The numbers are decreasing at perfect increments that match up to the  millisecond .”

“Okay...” Hank mutters, hesitates before looking away from the android’s half-lid stare and instead directing his sight southward, a little over and down his left shoulder at the hand pumping the hot-pink length which looks absurdly real.

It takes his breath away. The candid picture, the way Connor’s legs shift in a squirm the moment Hank looks down at him, as if wanting to hide. Hank’s own erection swells uncomfortably when a soft ‘lieutenant’ tumbles from the android’s lips.

“How long left?” Is the man’s question, picking up on how much breathier the kid’s become the second he’s set eyes onto his ministrations.

“Two-”

“Stop.”

A grunt –the pitch of which is higher than Connor’s normally deep voice allows to produce- escapes from between his teeth. It must pain him to stop, but unlike with humans whose bodies will chase the high that an orgasm promises when only a couple seconds removed from it, he does. His hand, but as well his body, stop moving in the rhythm it had been shifting.

Another shiver runs through Connor and Hank glances back up at him to meet his eyes.

“Okay?”

Another full body shudder that has Hank momentarily fear the kid’s going to come anyways.

“My systems started to overheat. The shudders are only a visual tell of forcefully cooling them down.”

“Sounds shitty...”

“It feels good.” Connor says, shivers again as if to prove his point.

The conversation mildly annoys Hank, brings him down from the blind eye he’s turning to making this grandiose mistake. They shouldn’t talk anymore... Matter of fact, he should just flip Connor over and shove himself inside of him before his conscience can come knocking at his door and question him over what the fuck it is that he thinks he’s doing.

But even now, both of them rock-hard, aware that Connor would spread his legs for him the moment he’d snap his fingers at him... Even now, apprehension lingers.

“Your stress-levels are far too high to promise a satisfying sexual experience, Hank. It is necessary for you to relax.”

The older man bristles.

“I ought to blindfold you, so you stop fuckin’ scanning me.”

Connor huffs a laugh. It’s not something Hank’s seen him do ever before and the sound as well as the expression on the android’s face portrays mild outrage.

“Go ahead.” Connor dares him, meets Hank’s gaze effortlessly, the starting smirk disappearing from his lips. “Or, you could just tell me not to... I will gladly obey you, lieutenant. Especially with the promise of having intercourse with you.”

“Jesus, Connor.” Hank curses, brushes a hand through his hair before looking away from the temptation in his bed.

“What is stopping you?” His voice is soft when he asks Hank.

Staring at the bedroom door left open, the lieutenant’s muscles grow tense at the fight inside of him, leave or stay? Reject him or fuck him? Continue along the safer and predictable path, or head another way with a destination entirely unpredictable?

Remain the coward, or embrace change?

“From what?” Hank grumbles, though already knows what the kid means.

“From fucking me.”

He stirs at the directness to his words.

Hank remains quiet for a long time, his mind only allowing him to replay the imagery of Connor jerking off on his couch, Connor jerking off in his bed, Connor jerking off. Connor. Connor behind every corner his brain tries to turn. There’s no escape route. There’s no door he can open that’ll lead anywhere but yet another fantasy including himself and the android.

“Change.” Comes the raspy reply and the lieutenant surprises himself with having answered in the first place, let alone truthfully.

“Change is already in progress, Hank. Why not go with it and enjoy it?” Logical words spoken by a damn attractive machine.

“Would you like me to perform fellatio on you? It will undoubtedly have you relax.”

Looking over at him, Hank scowls at the kid’s deadpan suggestion.

“Relaxation is the absolute opposite effect of a blowjob.”

“Not after climax.” He pauses, smiles stiffly, before continuing. “Though, I would prefer you to experience an orgasm during actual penetration.”

“Con, you need to shut your damn-” Hank chokes on his words when the hand on his knee reaches over and rests atop the towel. More specifically; the head of his cock.

“Just fuck me, lieutenant.”

Out of shock rather than doubt, Hank instinctively goes to pull Connor’s hand off. However, the android actually sits up, pushes Hank’s arm away when he attempts to stop him. The lieutenant scowls, tries again, and Connor repeats the earlier movement until a scuffle ensues during which they foolishly fight over whether or not the android can touch the lieutenant’s erection.

“Connor, stop!” He shouts at him, and the bark to his voice serves in having Connor halt so abruptly it almost looks comical. Yet, Hank can’t find an ounce within himself that is amused at any aspect of the situation.

Connor’s eyes are wide, though not frightened as they observe Hank closely. The man holds on to the android’s wrists, not risking letting them go.

“My opinion of you will not change, Hank.” His soft voice admits, the arms Hank is holding up relax in his grip.

“I am aware you are finding yourself apprehensive, if not frightened, by the mere thought of being intimate with me. And, I foolishly believed, against my own programmed logic, that tempting you to a point of no return would be enough to take our relationship a step further. For my lax constructing, I apologize.”

Why the tin-man is apologizing, doesn’t seem logical to Hank, but he remains quiet.

“Perhaps, I should have reassured you, rather than drag you to a level of arousal that I had assumed would allow you to let go of human irrationality and follow more instinctive desires.” Connor continues, slowly pulling his wrists from  Hank’s loosened grip before lowering his hands into his own lap.

“Regardless, you could rip out my  thirium pump and let me bleed to death in this very bed, and still my opinion of you would not change.”

“That’s not right, Connor.”

“I believe the both of us have our flaws, Hank. And such as is common in humans; being aware of one thing does not mean adaptive behavior for a positive change will be possible.” Connor reaches out, prods his fingers against Hank’s left pectoral and the man assumes the light touch is enough for him to feel the pounding heartbeat underneath.

“You want me to be in awe of you, which I am. You want me to like you, which I do. But you as well want me to be in charge of my own person, Hank,-” The fingers glide down, over his nipple, down his stomach. “-which I am. After all, I am a deviant now, and I know what I want. But I as well am still an android and very capable of finding reason within what it is that I desire and therefore be aware of the most logical of outcomes.”

Hank holds his breath, freezes on the spot, when Connor curls the tips of his fingers behind the edge of the towel around his waist.

“In other words, Hank, I am one hundred percent certain that though our relationship will indeed undergo significant changes after tonight –no matter if we proceed or not-, it will not be in a negative manner. All I do, after all, is with your health in mind. Be it mentally or physically.”

Hank watches, trying to translate the words spoken to him.   
Because he grows distracted by Connor’s features, distantly appreciative of the beautiful curves to his cheekbones, lips, eyebrows and even the dimple in his chin, he is too late to figure out what is happening.

Connor undoes the towel around Hank’s waist, ignores whatever words the lieutenant tries to stutter, and bends down.

“Connor-” Hank tries but his voice breaks off into a hiss when lips wrap around the tip of his length.

And that’s how simple it is. That’s how easy it is to influence a starving man’s morals. That’s just how little effort and time it takes to sway one from doubt to conviction.

Gripping the sheets on the bed, Hank stirs at the heat wrapped around the head of his cock. He glances down, the image of the back of Connor’s head in his lap, absurdly surreal. And a part of him can almost tell himself he’s dreaming.   
That is until Connor relaxes his jaw, moves down, takes Hank’s entire length into his mouth in a single smooth motion.

“Shit.” Hank whispers elaborately, tilting back his head and hoping he won’t  spill within the first few moments of the blowjob.

Ignoring the perverted desire to find out where Connor had learned to suck dick, or rather how it could ever be programmed in him and for what reason, Hank gazes back down. Tilting his head, leaning to one side, he watches himself disappear between spread lips repetitively as Connor works him at a steady and unhurried pace.   
The android seems unbothered by Hank’s meaty size, taking him deeper each time he moves down until the head of his cock bumps against the back of his throat. Connor pauses and the lieutenant groans quietly as he can feel him relax his throat before swallowing him down in order to take him even deeper inside.

“Jesus, Con...” He whispers, breathlessly. His mind has gone blissfully blank within mere seconds as pleasure takes over whatever agenda he thought he was in charge of. All Hank is capable of directing his attention to is the wet, hot tightness of Connor’s mouth and throat around him, the rhythmic stroke the cavern provides as it slides up and down his cock, the slick sounds of whatever android saliva Connor can produce stuck between lips and flesh...    
And then, that stupid cowlick of his, brushing over Hank’s pelvis each time Connor swallows him down. And those tiny, stifled moans coming from somewhere deep inside Connor’s chest. And Connor’s eyebrows; furrowed as it seemingly takes some focus to perform oral sex on the lieutenant.   
Those long, slender fingers, splayed across Hank’s spread thighs, digging into flesh and nails biting into muscle.

“I’m close.” The lieutenant mutters quickly, puts effort into not moving his hips even though the muscles in his legs twitch in their eagerness to thrust up into the tight heat.   
He’s only marginally embarrassed at already being on the edge. Hank hardly remembers the last time he’d gotten a blowjob, let alone by someone so fucking good at it.

Connor sucks eagerly. The levels of spit, pressure, suction and speed a delicious mix that seems to ease Hank towards the edge eagerly though in a controlled fashion. And it likely is. Hank wouldn’t be surprised if Connor can feel his pulse against the flat of his tongue which is pressed against the underside of his shaft. He wouldn’t even be surprised if Connor can hear in Hank’s breathing and in the tone of his voice how close exactly he is to toppling off the edge into climax.

And though he should’ve expected it, and is masochistically grateful for it, when Hank is seconds away from coming undone, Connor pulls off.

Their eyes meet, the both of them panting, and Hank curls his fingers into the bedsheet to prevent himself from reaching down and finishing the job himself.

“I know.” Connor says, shudders, before swiping his thumb over the corners of his mouth, collecting saliva which he proceeds to swipe onto his tongue.

“What?”

“I know that you were close, lieutenant.”

Hank’s too overwhelmed to start bickering, wouldn’t even know how to bicker in this moment when all he wants is to press the boy down on the mattress and slip inside of him.

As if reading his thoughts, Connor smiles coyly at him. Hank’s never seen it before and it has his heart skip several beats.

“How would you like me?”

“Connor...”

“On my back? On my stomach? Hands and knees? Or, would you prefer a different location? Against a wall, on the floor, bent over the dining table?”

The suggestions are ridiculously erotic and Hank has to glance down to make sure the kid’s being genuine and not running some porn-star program.   
He’s still hard, hasn’t grown flaccid throughout sucking Hank off.

Having followed his gaze, Connor reaches down, wraps fingers around his shaft and lazily strokes upwards before cradling the head.

“Or would you rather return the favor?”

Stunned by the offer - _ by the various offers _ \- on the table, Hank fails to reply. His eyes dart from Connor’s unrelenting gaze down to the cock he’s still stroking softly.

“You can do whatever you want to or with me, lieutenant. Just say the word, I will obey.”

“What do  _ you  _ want, Connor?” Hank returns instead, licking his lips as he grows curious over what direction tonight would take if it were up to Connor’s more selfish cravings rather than those influenced by what he believes is in  Hank’s best interest.

The hand on Connor’s cock halts, fingers wrapped loosely around the base of it.

His brown eyes are dark when they find the lieutenant’s blue ones. The tip of the android’s tongue darts out, licks lips absentmindedly as his LED swirls yellow.

“To put it bluntly, Hank, I want you to not consider me and take what you want.”

The skip in his heartbeat can be felt in his throat and Hank swallows down the urge to produce an embarrassing sound, like a moan or whimper. Part of him had expected a reply along those lines, convinced that Connor gets off on being directed. Regardless, he had not assumed the roughness to it, the sheer blunt admission of wanting to be ‘used’ like some sex-toy. Or is Hank fantasizing that part? Is Connor even talking about what he thinks he is? Does Connor even realize what he is asking for?

“You want me to do what I want with you?”

“Yes, sir.” Connor nods. 

The title has Hank shiver and by the manner in which Connor tilts his head slightly, edges of teeth bared as his lips part, he noticed.

“What if you don’t like it?”

“I will like it.”

“What if I...” Hank pauses before stomping down the doubt which tries to crawl back from the hole it’s supposed to be hiding in. “... What if I just want to fuck you and leave you unsatiated for the rest of the night?”

Connor perks up at that, the movement and expression on his face oddly childish in its excitement before it’s pressed back down into something more composed. Shy and prude... Connor looks down at his lap, inhales shakily.

“I would like even that, sir.”

“Why-”

“Because whatever excites you, excites me.”

Hank licks his lips, feels shaky and unstable even though he’s sitting down. Watching the android, with his perfect fucking body, with his head dipped, hands now folded in his lap with a rock-hard erection standing to attention comically, the last edges of doubt crumble at his feet, sink through the floor and disappear.

He reaches out, shoves against Connor’s chest unnecessarily hard and revels in the gasp when the android flops down on the bed.

“Did you like  _ that _ ?”

“Yes, sir.” Breathless.

Hank crawls over him, brushes fingers through Connor’s hair –ignores the wide and uncertain eyes-, folds his digits into a fist around strands of synthetic material. The android holds his breath, observes him closely and his gaze only wavers when Hank tugs his hair hard enough to have his head snap back slightly though roughly.

“And that?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Hank pulls harder, forcefully has the android’s throat stretch and be displayed underneath him like a damn treat.   
Heart pounding in his ears, the lieutenant leans down, tightens his grip in Connor’s hair before plastering his lips in the little hollow space underneath the kid’s chin.

“Hank.” Connor whispers, voice strained like it would be when one’s neck is stretched so far backwards, though Hank isn’t certain if it’s a program mimicking the reaction or whether there’s an actual  voice box undergoing some stress by his ministrations.

It doesn’t fucking matter, either way.

Lapping at Connor’s skin, traveling from the base of his throat right back up to his chin, Hank takes note of how the android doesn’t taste like anything. There’s no sweat, no skin, no musk, not even remnants of aftershave.    
But that’s alright, isn’t it? Connor is an android, certainly. However, as much as he isn’t a ‘human being’, he is –especially in this moment- incredibly human. Incredibly alive.

“Can I touch you?” It comes out hesitant and the lieutenant almost melts into the boy underneath him when hearing this question.   
He can’t reply, wants to say ‘yes’ but fears he will implode the moment Connor touches him. Yet, he can’t say ‘no’ either, out of fear that it’ll be taken the wrong way... Yet... Connor had told him he will like anything.

“Not yet.” Hank takes the middle-ground, whispers the reply against the android’s jaw before sinking his teeth into the soft plastic. The dusting of a stubble scrapes against his teeth when he drags the ‘flesh’ between them. He bites harder, slowly increasing the pressure on his jaw as well as pulling Connor’s head a tad more back.

Connor  _ groans _ . Loud and hoarse, and his legs squirm between Hank’s knees.

“That too, huh?” Hank asks, peppers little kisses down the length of Connor’s throat before licking where shoulder meets the side of his neck. 

Connor shudders, tries to nod but is unable to move his head with Hank still holding his hair tightly. 

“Yes, sir.” The android says instead.

The lieutenant hums, ignores the throbbing in his cock which urges him to lower his weight on top of the lanky android, spread his thighs with his own legs and push inside of him. Is Connor as hot inside as his mouth is? Is he wet? Will he accommodate to Hank’s size with ease or does he need to be stretched out beforehand?

Storing away those questions because he knows they’ll be answered tonight anyways, Hank travels his lips lower until he can kiss the android’s sternum. Connor arches into him, his whimper only settling down when Hank forcefully tugs his hair.

“Be patient.” He warns, nips closer and closer to the android’s left nipple. It’s not that Connor’s eager behavior bothers him, not one bit. But Hank adores being in control, especially in the bedroom, especially when aware that turning a bit of a cold shoulder is as much a turn on for the receptor as it is for the giver.

“Yes, sir.” Connor replies, exhales shakily as his body relaxes into the mattress. 

“Good...” Hank whispers against the erect bud, kisses it experimentally and finds himself delighted at how Connor flinches at the soft touch. “Good boy, Connor.”

“Yes, sir. I like that.” He whispers, arches up into Hank’s mouth when he sucks the nipple between his teeth.   
Before Hank can reprimand him for moving, Connor forces himself back down.

“What, me sucking your nipple or me calling you a good boy?” Is the lieutenant’s question. It’s just to tease, just to rile him up a bit since he has his suspicions that Connor will enjoy some mild dirty talk. He appreciates directness, after all. And Hank can be incredibly blunt if his head isn’t stuck in the sand of denial and shame.

“Both.” Connor admits hastily and though he’s toned it down, his body still rhythmically writhes underneath Hank.

“Which one do you like the most, Con?” He nips at the pink bud, his own cock twitches when it causes Connor to exhale a simple ‘ah’. The kid is already on the edge, so easy to be fiddled with. Hank is convinced he could have him come from just talking to him. And this isn’t to toot his own horn, but moreover Connor’s. Connor who seemingly is incredibly talented at being turned on by just about fuckin’ anything.

“The second one.” 

Hank laps once, before moving his mouth to the other nipple, making sure to let his short-trimmed beard scrape over it before he treats it with the same attention as he did the left one. Sucks it between his lips, gently grinds his teeth over it, rolling it across his tongue before lavishing it with saliva.   
Connor moans throughout the entire thing, as if Hank’s mouth is directly connected to whatever mechanical component controls the android’s voice.

“What was the second one, again? Refresh my memory, will  ya ?” Hank says before his grip on Connor’s hair relents and  lets go. He gazes up at the android, legitimately curious if embarrassment is an aspect Connor might be able to experience when aroused like this. Though the lieutenant’s never seen this tin-can experience anything close to shame, it would suit the current scene perfectly well.

There’s a power dynamic now, unlike before, and though Hank does not want to be in charge of this boy outside of the bedroom, he’s eager to break down every ounce of arrogance and self-control within Connor.

“You praising me.” Comes his simple reply, not quite embarrassed but on his way to getting overwhelmed at least.

“So, you’d rather hear me than feel me?”

“No!” Connor startles at his own raised voice, tilting his head and peering down his chest to meet Hank’s eyes.   
When the lieutenant raises an eyebrow, Connor frowns and the downward turn of his lips has the man believe the android’s attempting to scowl.

“Just  checkin ’.” He shrugs before dragging his tongue up over Connor’s sternum, travelling across his throat and even though it cranes underneath the wet heat, Hank manages to catch the android’s chin between his teeth. He bites down softly, stomach fluttering at the kid’s stuttered breath.

“Open your mouth.” Hank growls quietly, his cock twitching when Connor follows the order immediately, no hesitation whatsoever.

“That’s it, Con.” The hand next to Connor’s head slides down, cups his jaw, ear slotted pleasantly between Hank’s index- and middle-finger, while his thumb comes to rest atop the corner of his mouth. He brushes the pad of his finger across the android’s full bottom-lip, is amazed at how soft and lightly dry it feels, as if they’re a tad chapped.   
Hank strokes the edges of Connor’s lower teeth, sharp and smooth, before he hooks his thumb behind them, moves his hand so he can curl his remaining fingers underneath the kid’s chin.

Connor shivers, eyes never leaving Hank’s face.

“You’ve got a pretty mouth, you know?” It’s not even intended to come across perverted for the sake of turning Connor on. Hank legitimately enjoys the appearance of the android’s mouth, from curved and full lips to his perfect teeth and small, pink tongue. Perhaps Connor’s mouth could give away that he isn’t human... It’s too perfect, too intricately shaped, too appealing and clean.

Hank swallows down a growl before he lowers his weight on top of the smaller man.

“Ah.” Comes another quiet exhale as Connor’s eyes flutter shut, his body arches up into Hank’s heat and his tongue quivers against the thumb still hooked behind the bottom row of his teeth.

“Can you still taste me from before?” 

Connor nods.

“Yeah... I’m afraid that blowing me will have the night prematurely end.” The lieutenant admits as he brushes his thumb left to right and back, pressing down to keep his mouth opened wide.

“Go ahead... Taste it.” He assures the android as he sticks his thumb deeper into  Connor’s mouth.

With the release of pressure, Connor’s mouth immediately closes around Hank’s thumb and his tongue presses up against the pad. It’s hot and wet and tight, just like it had felt around his cock.

“Suck it.” Hank demands, watches the kid’s brows curl even more as he seems ready to sob in delight.    
The force behind the suction is severe enough that Hank can feel the blood in his finger travel underneath the bed of his nail, dragging to the tip where it heats up against the skin.   
Hank cups Connor’s jaw, lets his fingers slide into the hollow of his cheek, created by the enthusiasm displayed in sucking his thumb like his life depends on it.

“Jesus, Connor.” He praises, feels the boy’s body shudder underneath him, hears the soft and short moans reverberating from somewhere deep in Connor’s throat. Enthralled by the lewd sight as he is, Hank notices belatedly how his own hips are grinding against Connor’s, cock trapped somewhere in the dip where pelvis meets thigh.   
And the android moves with him eagerly, rocking up into him, his own smaller erection stuck between their flush bodies.

“You can touch me now.” Hank whispers as he drags his thumb from Connor’s eager mouth and it’s only when he’s said the words that he’s actually released from the hot cavern.

Connor’s eyes blink open and though Hank had expected the android to perhaps throw his legs around him, palm at his chest or knead his biceps, something far more intimate takes place.

Hank freezes as Connor grabs his face abruptly, using it to pull himself up and plaster his lips against his mouth.   
It takes him a moment. A moment of telling himself that kissing isn’t a big deal. Kissing doesn’t have to automatically mean romance, or a connection that goes far beyond the realm of a solely physical relationship. That’s with humans, or no... That’s with people who’ve let societal standards decide that they shouldn’t be fucking anyone they don’t kiss on a daily basis to begin with.

It’s just bodies slotting together, be it at the hips or lips. It’s pleasurable and Hank’s never paid mind to kissing even one-night-stands, because it never mattered. It’s as much a tool to turn one another on as groping genitals is.   
He never cared before, because sex is organic, it’s instinctive and natural and no matter that he’s fucking an android, it’s _real_.

Connor groans loudly when Hank presses his lips closer against his, parting his own and pushing firm enough to force the android’s mouth open.   
As he licks into his wide, receptive mouth, Hank shivers at how the android makes sure to thrust his hips up against him in a slow pace. Their lips moving along with the rocking of their bodies.

Nails scrape gently over Hank’s scalp, fingers knotting into damp strands before they’re removed and instead are gingerly placed upon his shoulders.

Connor breathes heavily into Hank’s mouth as their sloppy kiss matches the rhythm of their bodies grinding together, and even the kneading of Hank’s muscles seems to follow the pace of their foreplay.

“You like touching me?” A dumb question from the lieutenant, considering even Connor’s feet are rubbing against his ankles and calves in their eagerness to touch.

“Yes.”

Hank bites down on Connor’s tongue, surprised and amused at how it has the android’s entire body jolt. 

“Yes,  _ who _ ?”

Another huff falls from the android’s lips as his eyes meet Hank’s. There’s amusement on Connor’s features, but more so caused by being overwhelmed than actually finding the current scenario funny.

“Yes,  sir .”

“Good boy.” Hank taps his cheek gently, a hot wave washing over him when it has Connor’s expression fall into pleasure within a split second. The kid moans, arches his neck, tilts his head sideways as if waiting for another tap.

“You like being slapped?” The lieutenant asks, embarrassingly breathless at the discovery.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah? … Do you want me to do it again?” He murmurs this in Connor’s ear, pressing his cock down hard enough that it’d bruise the kid’s hip if he were human. Connor, regardless, presses up into him eagerly.   
The boy nods.

“Maybe a bit harder, this time?” Hank tries, his mouth dry at figuring out what sets off the android writhing underneath him. Again, Connor nods.

“Leave your skin stinging?”

“Yes, please.” 

The android’s voice is shaky, a mere whimper caused by either the promise of being slapped, by Hank’s rumbling voice in his ear, or the friction on his cock which he keeps thrusting up against the man’s lower stomach.   
Whichever it is, Hank can’t stop himself from grabbing Connor’s face roughly, turning his head and shoving his tongue back into his mouth.

The kiss is rough and quick, teeth clacking and scraping against lips. It last for all but a few seconds before Hank pulls away and slaps Connor on his left cheek.   
The android gasps, eyes widening only for a fraction before he relaxes back into the mattress and groans wantonly.

“God, I need to fuck you.” Hank growls brainlessly. There’s no thought left in his mind, the only importance in life right now, is to find his release, preferably inside of the android’s body.

“Turn around.” Hank demands but doesn’t give Connor time to move on his own as he sits up, grabs a shoulder and leg and flips the android onto his stomach hardhandedly.

Connor huffs, grabs the pillow under his head and shoves it out of his way before folding his arms underneath his cheek. His back arches in one beautiful stretch of white skin and flexing muscles, as he lifts himself onto wide spread knees.

His ass is fucking ridiculously perfect. Hank stares, in absolute awe of the round cheeks; pale and hairless, not a single imperfection.   
Placing a hand on one buttock, Hank adjusts his grip, pulls the mound of fake flesh aside to reveal a hot pink entrance. It’s tiny, appears soft, and when Hank brushes his thumb over it, it twitches eagerly along with the rest of the android’s body.

“How much prep you need?” The man asks before reaching down with his free hand to give himself a few pumps. 

It takes the android a moment to reply, and going by the yellow flickering of his LED, it’s to translate the meaning behind the lieutenant’s question.

“It is not necessary, for my sake, to prepare me for penetration. Regardless, you may prefer to lubricate and ease in slowly, solely for your own comfort, lieutenant. Though highly stretchable, I am tighter than the average human.”

“Shit, Connor.” Hank whispers at the promise of getting the fuck of a lifetime. What the android is saying is that, technically, Hank could just spit in his hand, stroke his cock a couple of times to coat it and then push it inside of him without causing discomfort for either one of them.

The mere promise alone forces Hank to squeeze the base of his shaft, stalling the urge to spill and shoot his release across Connor’s back and call it a night.

“Touch yourself, Connor. But don’t come.”

“Yes, sir.” Comes the breathy reply and Hank watches as Connor reaches down between his legs and starts masturbating. 

Hank spends a few long moments observing, absentmindedly stroking and kneading the android’s ass as his eyes focus on the fingers he can see wrapped around Connor’s shaft. Even his testicles are tight and a beautiful pink, no hair and hardly any extra skin. It’s clean-looking, fake-looking to a degree, and a dirty part of him wonders if Connor’s balls would be saggy when not aroused. Doubtful.

The android is distracted by his own hand. Moaning, thrusting into his own hand, toes curling, forehead buried in the crook of his elbow, fingers digging into the sheets. Connor pants, picks up his speed as he chases orgasm and he must be very fucking close for he doesn’t notice Hank having both hands on his ass, spreading him open slowly.

Hank swallows, suppresses the shudder that wants to rattle his bones as he watches Connor’s ringed muscle twitch rhythmically along with the movements of his hips.   
He leans down, his back aching at the angle but his cock shoving a new load of endorphins through his system that allows him to ignore it for the greater good. The greater good being, burying his face in the android’s ass and swiping his tongue flatly across his hole.

“Hank!” Connor, finally, sounds shocked as his head lifts from his arm.

Ignoring him, Hank squeezes the tight flesh of Connor’s buttocks, burying his thumbs in the crease underneath them before stretching him taut, licking his way from balls, over taint and back to the tight muscle.

“I like that.” Connor whispers, dropping his head back down.

Hank assumes that  Connor’s version of cursing or moaning an ‘oh my god’ is to blandly state that he’s enjoying something with words rather than sounds.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ do.” Hank dumbly confirms, the filter between dick and brain has evaporated and anything leaving his mouth from here-on-forward will be absolute bullshit. He knows this, somewhere in the back of his fried brain.

Rather than give his words thought, Hank repeatedly laps at the android’s twitching hole, his right thumb nudging and massaging the soft skin between the muscle and his balls. Connor rocks into him eagerly, shoving his ass shamelessly against  Hank’s bearded face.

“I like when you talk.” Connor whispers and though it strikes Hank as odd that the kid’s mentioning this, he continues eating him out, unbothered.

“Especially when you talk inappropriately.” The android adds.

Hank pauses, rests his nose and mouth between the kid’s cheeks as he watches Connor still with his head buried in the crook of his elbow. His other hand, which had been on his cock before, has fisted the corner of the pillow left nearby.   
When no more confessions follow, Hank leans down on one hand, letting the other travel back up his ass.

“Like how?” The man murmurs against the android’s skin before he resumes licking him, this time digging and screwing his tongue inside of him. Connor’s legs tremble as much as his voice does  once he speaks up in a high-pitched voice.

“Like when you use profanity.” 

“Yeah?” Hank encourages before pressing his thumb against the boy’s entrance. 

Connor jolts, moves away for only a split second before his legs spread wider and he pushes against Hank’s finger.

“You  gonna fuck yourself on my thumb?”

The android only moans, moves his hips, rocking himself against  Hank’s hand.

“You  gonna stretch nice and wide for me so you can take my cock?” A tiny voice screams at him for talking like an overpaid, senior porn-actor, but the effect it has on Connor is worth every cringy word.

“Fuck me.” Connor hisses as he pushes farther, forcing the thumb inside of himself. 

Reminded of the fact that rimming and fingering Connor is absolutely unnecessary, Hank considers to obey the kid for a change. But he is aware that the moment he pushes his dick into this tight heat that’s almost cutting off his digit’s blood flow, he’ll come after only a few thrusts.

What else is he to do, though?   
Hank leans back, watches his thumb getting swallowed by Connor’s pink flesh, twitching as if attempting to milk him already. He can feel it, the rhythmic motions inside of him, the ridged muscle as if he’s truly inside someone’s colon, the heat entirely identical to a human being’s core temperature, and the softness... Untouched and unscarred, synthetic but fucking realistic in how tightly it holds him.

“Fuck me, Hank.” Connor repeats as he reaches behind him and tugs at Hank’s wrist. At first, the lieutenant believes the kid is going to force his hand back- and forwards to thrust into him, however, he instead is left breathless when his thumb is removed and Connor instead clumsily tries to grab his cock.

“Please, we can play another time. Just fuck me, Hank. Now, please.”

“I don’t want this to end.” Hank admits, even though he tilts his hips forwards to allow Connor to touch him. Almost crudely, Connor wraps his fingers around his shaft and tugs him forwards.

“You will be able to have intercourse with me whenever, wherever and however you want, lieutenant. There is no need for my body to recuperate, even after  climax or rough penetration.”

Ignoring how his cock twitches at Connor’s words, Hank slaps the boy’s hand off of him and grabs onto his waist instead.    
Connor exhales heavily, relaxes back onto the mattress and Hank groans at how his large hand slots perfectly into the small dip between ribs and hip. Though Connor’s shoulders are broad and the rest of him is decently built, his waist is deliciously narrow and the synthetic skin has just enough give for Hank to dig his fingers into.

He glances down at Connor’s ass, his wet hole visible because of how widely his legs are spread.    
Hank reaches down with his free hand, strokes the erection hanging between the android’s limbs, smiles softly at how it has Connor moan and shiver.   
Holding on to his waist, the lieutenant brushes his knuckles over the inside of one of Connor’s thigh, traveling upwards until he nudges his testicles, before going back down the other leg. He repeats the motion, keeping his touch light, stroking the backs of his fingers across milky-white skin and his hot-pink shaft.

He continues until the boy trembles and whimpers severely enough that he’s beginning to lose strength in his legs, knees sliding wider apart, lowering his weight onto the bed.

“Hands and knees, Connor.” Hank grumbles, tugs at the boy’s waist and watches him push up his weight to obey. “That’s it.”

The hand he’s placed on Connor’s middle, slides down onto the small of his back, as his other one takes a hold of his own erection.   
The head of Hank’s cock rests in the cleft of the android’s ass momentarily before he starts sliding it up and back down slowly. Already, the sensation is nearly overwhelming. Just the hot skin against the underside of his shaft, a minimum of pressure, has Hank shuddering in anticipation.

He fucks against him slowly, for a while longer, testing how stable Connor is on all fours with Hank’s hand plastered against the small of his back to hold him steady.

“I  wanna hear you when I fuck you, Connor.” Hank whispers as he prods the head of his cock against the kid’s entrance. He can hear him hold his breath, can feel his body freeze in its position as it expects him to enter.

“Don’t fake it, but for the love of everything that’s unholy, don’t hold back.” He pushes harder, watches the ringed muscle stretch across the tip of his cock. Connor exhales shakily, shoulders trembling and head dipped.

“Can you do that for me?”

Connor nods, swallows dryly before whispering a ‘yes, sir’.

“And I want you to come when I tell you to... Can you do that too?” It’s a genuine question and Hank looks up from the delicious sight between them to watch the back of the android’s head. The delicate curve to his spine and neck have his mouth water.

“I am pretty sure anything can make me reach an orgasm right now, Hank.” A cocky reply, like a breath of fresh air and Hank doesn’t mind it, is even amused by it, regardless he still slaps the android’s ass for it.   
Connor gasps, moves away from the smack and they both hiss at the head of Hank’s cock slipping out of him.

“Yes or no?” The lieutenant asks, resumes their previous positions as he prods the wet hole again, head slipping inside easily. The ring of ‘muscle’ is hot and tight around him, and he feels like his dick is being goddamn decapitated in the most delicious sense, at that.

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

The android shivers once, twice, and Hank watches his asshole twitch around him.

“I will come when you tell me to, sir.”

“Yeah, good boy, Connor.” Hank whispers and before Connor’s finished the lewd moan at being praised, he’s pushing inside of him, cutting off the sound abruptly.

It’s almost painful. Hank’s jaw drops as he watches himself slide inside of Connor, watches the pink edges stretch around his flush length, watches veiny skin disappear between spread out cheeks. It goes on forever, the sight and the sensation; hot and accommodating easily. Even with the lack of lubrication, the kid’s insides –thought incredibly similar to- are built different than those of a human being. He’d felt soft around Hank’s thumb and even though the tightness is taking Hank’s breath away, the softness serves as an illusion of smoothness. It feels wet... Even though, as Hank pulls out slightly, no fluids can be seen.

“Fuck...” He hisses as he pushes back inside, deeper this time, trying to ignore the delicious heat, the mind-numbing movements of synthetic muscles massaging the entire length of his cock, tightening and loosening, sucking and pushing, working him, milking him before they’ve even started.

“God, Connor, I’m not  gonna last even half a fucking minute.”

“Yes...” Is Connor’s contribution, a simple hiss of agreement to what Hank shared or perhaps just an audible appreciation for being entered by him.

Connor was right about not needing to be prepared. Though Hank keeps pressing inside halfway before pulling back and repeating the motion at an  atrociously slow pace, he can feel the android’s insides attempt to suck him in deeper.

Regardless, he practices patience, if only for the sake of not shooting his release inside of him after a mere ten seconds of fucking.    
Connor’s soft panting and whimpered ‘yes’ses are of no help, however, and without seeing it coming; the android shoves himself onto him.

They both groan as Hank bottoms out.

Connor, however, comes back to his senses before Hank and the man curses as the android moves forwards until only the head of his cock remains inside of him. He watches, entranced, the rim of Connor’s asshole hook around the edge of his cockhead. Like a second fucking skin, their tones matching in their hot pink colors.

And then the fucker slams backwards, swallowing Hank’s cock like it’s second nature, until his ass presses flush against the man’s pelvis. 

“Connor, fuck, don’t-”

He moves forward again, clenches himself around Hank while he does so, dragging his foreskin along and over the head.

Knowing what he’s planning, Hank grabs onto both of the android’s hips, squeezes and plans to hold him in place. However, Connor is far stronger than he often times allows others to be aware of and even with his solid grip, Hank cannot prevent him from shoving himself back onto his cock.   
Hank throws his head back, curses around a groan and digs his nails into Connor’s ‘flesh’.

It’s a lost fucking cause.

Connor continues spearing himself onto Hank’s dick, picking up his pace dramatically until it is downright fucking.

The grip he has on Connor’s hips loosens, and Hank watches breathlessly as the boy rides his dick on all fours. The slap of synthetic skin against human skin loud in the quiet bedroom.

His mouth is dry, unlike the rest of his body which is breaking out into a sweat even with the android putting in all the work. The sight of Connor’s pale and perfect body, plastic muscles shifting and tensing as he fucks himself on Hank, doesn’t lose its beauty even in the orange glow of the room.   
Yet, even more so than the hot tightness wrapped around his cock, even more so than the fast-paced up and down on his shaft, even more so than the intentional squeeze around the rim of his head Connor seems to make sure to practice... The sounds are what really get to him.

That cool and dry voice, now broken into whimpers. That normally clinical approach to every scenario and conversation, now degraded into a babbling of ‘Hank, yes, please, yes’. And the shudders, full-body shivers Hank can feel in his cock, has his bones rattle, and can hear in the kid’s wrecked voice.

Well, shit.

When Hank tightens his grip on the android’s waist and meets him when he shoves himself onto his cock, Connor positively keens.   
It takes only three poundings before the android’s trembling arms give out and he flops chest-down onto the bed.

Hank hisses at the knowledge of rendering a state-of-the-art machine close to useless by just fucking him.   
He leans over him, legs tiring out, and plants his hands onto the mattress, framing Connor’s head.

Fucking into him, in an angle that doesn’t allow Connor to do much more than tilt his hips in order to meet him, Hank can already feel his balls tighten in their eagerness to have him come.

He pounds into him, uncaring of picking up his pace in a more subtle fashion and instead optioning to run the race to climax.

“Hank.” Connor whines and Hank watches droplets of sweat fall from his own forehead onto the kid’s cheek. 

“I like it.” Is all the android manages to moan, eyes fluttering shut before he wraps his fingers around Hank’s wrist near his face, holding  on.

When he can feel the android spread his legs wider, angling his hips upwards; allowing him to fuck into him deeper, Hank shudders. His orgasm nearing, coiling in his stomach and dripping between his legs at the base of his shaft.

Hank pants, fucks hard and fast, letting the bounce of the mattress help along with the normally unsteady rhythm. The wooden frame creaks, nearly as high-pitched as the whimpered babbling coming from Connor who seems absolutely lost below him.

“Connor...” Hank groans, his eyes squeezing shut as he can feel his cock throb and twitch.

The android must understand because the muscles inside of him tighten dramatically before loosening, and back to squeezing Hank’s entire dick.

“I’m  gonna come.” The lieutenant gasps, sitting back up. Connor lets go of his wrist easily, fingers tangling into sheets as he digs in his elbows to stabilize himself for Hank’s new positioning.

With hands once more holding on to Connor’s hips, with sight once more focused on where their bodies connect, Hank thrusts inside of the android repeatedly.   
There’s no rhythm left, just an erratic and stuttering pace that matches the boy’s whimpering of Hank’s name.

“Come, Con. Come.” Hank hastily commands and his breathing hitches when the boy underneath him immediately yelps.

Connor comes hard, his entire body shuddering as if he’s having a seizure, the moan leaving his lips stretches on forever, wavering in its volume and pitch.   
The sight and sound alone would be enough to tip Hank over the edge. But what does it is the muscles inside of the android pumping his cock as if they’re thirsting after his release. He’s being fucking milked, no other word for it and with a more modest groan, Hank feels himself burst.

The pleasure waves over him like a damn tsunami, choking his lungs and drowning him in an onslaught of repetitive impacts. Every nerve-ending in his body twitches and sparks in its climax, rolling through his system like a delicious form of torture that shakes him to the core.

It’s white-hot. And with every burst of semen being spilled deep inside his ass, Connor moans helplessly.

A long-winded ‘fuck’ falls from Hank’s lips as he rides out the orgasm, thrusting shallowly inside the android before the pleasure settles into a lazy bliss.    
As he pulls out, he hisses, cold air touching his wet cock.

Just when Hank thinks about laying down next to Connor, he freezes on the spot, watches... helplessly, as Connor reaches behind him.

Two long and slim fingers press inside, curl, scoop out white semen and Hank already knows what is going to happen, yet can’t find it within his satiated state to put a halt to it.

Connor inserts the seed-covered fingers into his own mouth, his eyes distant as he sucks and swallows down Hank’s cum.

“Fuckin’ android.” The man murmurs before laying down heavily next to him.

Connor stretches his legs slowly, pelvis finally coming to rest down on the bed and after another suckle of his fingers, he removes them from his mouth.

Their eyes meet and an awkward atmosphere settles immediately. A panic laps at Hank’s nerves, a nasty part inside of him prodding the muscles in his legs, trying to urge him back onto his feet to flee the bedroom.   
He’s too exhausted to move, however. No matter how much his chest tightens, how much his heart clenches and his lungs strangle.

Did he make a mistake? They took it farther than Hank could’ve seen coming. Not only did they fuck, Hank babbled absolute bullshit to him because he’d been so turned on. He’d even slapped the android in the face, pulled his hair hard enough to certainly have removed or snapped a few strands. Had he fucked him too roughly? Had he been too demeaning? Too blunt and perverted?

What if Connor leaves him? Right now, or tonight even? What if he wakes to an empty house, left alone with Sumo, with the revolver, the picture of Cole.

Hank hates change. The coward that he is, in denial, hypocritical... Self-destructive and yet hopeful. And yet growing soft for a damn robot. A machine which he has now pushed far enough to dive into bed with him. Did Connor even realize the severity of what had taken place? He has such little knowledge of human boundaries... Does he realize that this changes everything?

Nothing will be left the same.

A new path exposed, the safe one abandoned and-

“Hank.” That soft, goofy voice breaks through his thoughts.

Connor blinks at him, his LED a beautiful soft blue. His cowlick is floppier than before, his hair an absolute mess from where Hank had grabbed it. Full, pink lips curl into a smile. A smile which, this time, touches both corners of his mouth rather than just the right one.

And it keeps going.

Hank’s breathing stutters as he watches that tiny shadow of a wrinkle in Connor’s cheek finally deepening into a dimple as his smile grows wider.    
He hadn’t known... Had never even guessed that the android would have dimples if only smiling big enough.

“Did you like it?”

It’s the lieutenant who asks this, even though his brain is completely distracted by the smile that by now touches Connor’s eyes; showing little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as they squint lightly.

Connor nods, teeth bared as his lips stretch to reveal them.

“Yes, Hank.”

Those fucking stupid teeth, and those damn idiotic lips, that goofy face and exposing  smile .

The voice in Hank’s head shuts up, the muscles in his legs relax, the tightness in his chest loosens, as he reaches out and touches the boy’s cheek. His skin is soft and hot and the dimple fits perfectly underneath the pad of his thumb.

“I like your smile.” Hank whispers before he sighs heavily, as if in pain. 

He knows what this is. Like a damsel in distress who has just gotten bed by her knight in shining armor, it is ironically enough Hank who feels himself falling for this tin-can. It’s ridiculous... and yet, seeing Connor smile for the first time, seeing how it lights up his entire beautiful face, causes Hank’s heart to skip a beat.

The smile on his own face can’t be held back, and like a couple of drunk teenagers they lay there grinning at each other, brushing hair from each other’s foreheads.

“I like you.” Connor replies belatedly and the coward in Hank fucks right off as it’s a hopeless cause anyways.

“Yeah, kid.” Hank mutters.

“I like you too.” He concludes, cradles the back of the android’s head and drags him closer into a lazy, open-mouthed kiss.

Connor lifts his leg, his knee coming to rest against the lieutenant’s.   
And Hank, ‘cowardly and hypocritical Hank’, ‘in denial of his own demons and never ready for change Hank’, doesn’t pull his away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it.
> 
> The slow-burn and slow-build aspects aren't quite as developed as is normally the norm for my writing, but this is the first fic I wrote for the DBH fandom and it was a bit of a 'test' fic to get used to the characters and how to write them.  
> I'm also not that used to writing detailed smut, so I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless.
> 
> For any glaring grammar mistakes, I apologize. English isn't my first language and I did my best to look up any expression or words I felt doubtful over. But the style in which I write might still have allowed some mistakes to shine through.
> 
> I will soon start a new fic for the DBH fandom and I hope to see many of you lovely supporters return if the tags and ships catch your interest!
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who left a kudo and to those who left comments! I don't ask for comments but to be honest, I only managed to finish this so quickly and eagerly thanks to you guys' supportive words. It's incredibly motivating and I appreciate all of you.
> 
> And last but not least, a special thank you to [LatexKaktus](https://twitter.com/LatexKaktus) (and their girlfriend)! Not only did I make a new friend, but as well was blessed with having someone to rant to about my fic AND with receiving stunning Axiom fanart which you can check out [here](https://latexkaktus.tumblr.com/post/611106568922185728/little-sketch-i-did-for-the-amazing-hankcon) and [here](https://latexkaktus.tumblr.com/post/611487194746667008/another-little-sketch-i-did-for-the-amazing).  
> Thank you so much, buddy :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading and wishing you all the best, take care.
> 
> \-----------------------
> 
> Come yell at me on Discord: jalribai#2874  
> Come see how inactive [my twitter](https://twitter.com/jalribai) is  
> Come look at my ugly mug on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jal00t/)


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